One Last Assignment for Lost Time
by HolyJunkie
Summary: An old, malfunctioning robot returns to Robotropolis after an assignment from Dr. Robotnik takes more than a lifetime to complete. The problem: Robotropolis had vanished, in its place, a massive city of organics.
1. Chapter 1

The robot had been walking for days now. Its objective completed, there was nothing to stand between it and returning home to Robotropolis.

The assignment had taken an unfathomable amount of time, it appeared. Robotropolis looked insanely different. Gone were the cyberpunk buildings with the dark and dusty look that the robot liked. Gone was the charm of the dystopia the robot worked for. In the place of what the robot was fond of, there now were immensely tall buildings- built not with military efficiency in mind, but with lots of windows, lots of lights, lots of...

What the hell were those? There's thousands of them. Up in the buildings, some walking on the sides of the streets, even glimpses of them in relatively unique large vehicles moving in an orderly fashion in the middle of said streets. They were about as tall as the SWAT Bots the robot worked with back when he was last here, but they were not SWAT Bots.

They were not robots, nor mechanized. The only metal one of the robot's many sensors can detect were either small devices that served as telephones, or other tiny contraptions found around and sometimes within their person.

It was nighttime, but the robot's mission clock was not working properly. Specific times were impossible to determine. Either way, Usually the SWAT bots would be on patrol. Usually the streets were empty, and peaceful. Instead, it's chock-full of these organics.

The robot found this unpleasant, but retained its proverbial cool. The last thing it wanted was an unnecessary encounter.

ZHOOM

Damnit, what was that, Sound barriers being shredded? The robot was about to investigate the source of the sound when multiple other sounds erupted around it.

It sounded like cheering... Wait, cheering? What the hell for? Considering they were organic, wouldn't their ears pop, thus irritating them? The robot didn't have ear drums to pop, but it did scramble its audio sensors- and it found that rather annoying.

Amidst the cheering, the robot managed to catch "Yeah! Go Sonic! Sign my shirt, Sonic!"

Who was this Sonic? The robot asked itself. It then realised that it asked the same question aloud.

The closest of the tallish non-bots turned to the robot. The long-haired, effeminate non-bot failed to catch a glimpse of the robot's armour plating under the dark brown wide-brimmed hat with matching backpack and trousers. She looked as if the robot just heard something remarkably stupid. Either way, she failed to answer- or care to answer.

"I guess it's one of those "Read a book sometime" things," the robot added. "I haven't been here for a long time, mind."

The woman didn't respond. She was talking to two other similar-looking and similar-dressed women.

The robot shrugged to itself and continued walking. Not so far off, the robot could hear... music?

The good doctor never allowed music apart from what he liked. Then again, Doc never liked music anyway. The robot knew it needed to investigate.

It walked at a significantly faster pace, then turned the corner to where it was sure was the source of the musi-

Hundreds of the non-bots on the sides of the street. Hell, maybe thousands. Some of them wading through the sea of slow-moving- if not completely stalled vehicles. This was hardly orderly at all, although it appeared nobody was really getting hurt.

Aside from a few stumbling around while giggling to themselves about inside jokes. They were dropping to the hard concrete ground- followed by laughter from their cohorts. What the hell was this?

The robot glanced at many of the signs of the area. Bars? This many bars? The Doctor would be absolutely furious at this many bars being open and crowded! There's no way he could have allowed this to happen overnight.

Common sense and more observation revealed that this street with all the bars and all the bargoers getting piss-drunk had all been here for a long time.

Maybe this all came with the many skyscrapers that put the Good Doctor's main base to shame. Maybe it all came with all of these organics the robot had never seen before.

This was nothing like during the robot's last assignment- far far away.


	2. Chapter 2

While contemplating current options, the robot swiftly reacted to catch one of the drunkards.

"Thanksh man," the non-bot slurred before being picked up back onto his feet by his friends. The robot nodded in response. It seemed natural to do at this time.

Still, there were hundreds- nay, thousands of these non-bots around this area. The robot decided it needed to escape this area.

There didn't appear to be anything interesting any other direction save for through. That, and the source of the sonic boom had gone down this street. Perhaps the robot could get some current events information from this Sonic character. There was no way in hell the robot was going to ask organics consuming alcohol.

The robot pulled its hat down and continued its trek through the relatively crowded sidewalks. Odor sensors detected multiple variants of alcohol and fruit- and occasionally something rancid that reminded the robot of this one interrogation it had pulled off. The subject in particular had regurgitated after... well, it's better off not known.

The trek was not eventful. The robot kept its wits about, but otherwise stepped its way around non-bots, dodging groups and individuals. There were a few men begging for cash, but the robot didn't reply.

One of them shouted something derogatory- but it was unfamiliar to the curse words the robot knew. At this point, the robot figured that the phrase "Times have changed" would be a Captain Obvious statement.

Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice that upon close examination, the robot was in fact a robot.

"Hey wait a sec," one civilian said above the other conversations. The robot turned its head toward the source. One organic with a half-empty can appeared to be comically squinting at the robot.

"Don't I know ye from somewhere?" The organic asked as he approached the robot.

The best response at the moment was a simple shrug.

"Yeah, you kinda look like... uh... Sonic! Yeah, with that muzzle. What's with the shades? They look kinda cool."

By shades, the organic was referring to the robot's helmet- mostly concealed under the wide-brimmed hat. The muzzle itself was a dulled brown, and scruffy- like a relatively short beard. It was among the only parts that retained organic matter from roboticization... how many years ago?

"You know Sonic, right? Could you get his autograph?" The very very buzzed organic asked.

The robot replied "Actually... I've heard of him. I'm actually trying to find him." The robot paused, trying to think of a good excuse to get away from the organic while possibly getting valuable information. "Do you know where he lives?"

The organic had a relatively shocked expression. "You mean you don't know Sonic?"

"Is that a bad thing?" The robot asked.

"He's the World's fastest hedgehog, a real hero!"

Information regarding subject Sonic. Good. Now the robot just needed a location.

"Well... Again, I've got a problem, and from what I've heard, Sonic can definitely help. So where can I find him?"

"Anybody who's anybody would know. You don't get out much, do you?"

On the contrary, the robot had gone out too much. It didn't even remember how long ago it first left Robotropolis on its last assignment. The robot gave another shrug. Hopefully the organic would answer correctly.

"He usually hangs at the Thorndyke Mansion. Paparazzi's always there at some... at some..." The organic himself paused, apparently forgetting how to pronounce "point" or "time"

"Thanks," the robot replied, then hurriedly continued on. Fifteen more paces, and the street will be in the past.

"Thorn... dyke..." The robot shook its head as it continued walking. "What the hell kind of name was Thorndyke? Ah well, irrelevant. Residence, meaning "home" of sorts. The robot would need a map... or a street... more information required."

Paparazzi- what the Good Doc's nephew usually calls news reporters that stalk people for the sake of recording every aspect of a subject's life. Among other derogatory words was "Soulless pricks."

These were a different brand of organic creature entirely. Maybe Paparazzi meant something different entirely- No, wait. The organic described Paparazzi in a similar fashion as the Nephew did.

The robot hummed to itself as it continued walking. Must think logically: big city like this would require a map. No map station in sight like Robotropolis.

"Wait a sec, how did I remember Ssn... Sni... Damn, corrupted memory bits..." The robot made a note to run a full diagnostic once it had access to a computer capable of clearing said corruption.

Maybe one of these nearby well-lit buildings would have a map. The robot glanced up and down the road- which was pretty cluttered with vehicles coming to and from the drunkard-laden street. The robot bounded across the road, careful to avoid contact with any of the vehicles, before stopping on the other curb. The robot walked into the first building it saw.

It looked bigger on the outside. Maybe it was the shelves set in an orderly fashion and riddled with packaged goods. It didn't help that the drop ceiling looked rather worn-out.

"We plan to replace it next week," A voice came from the robot's left. The robot turned to see a bearded organic standing behind a counter a head shorter than the robot.

"Cool shades," the organic said.

"Thanks." The robot simply replied- still as confused as when the first organic said it. "Although I'm not sure what "shades" you're referring to."

"You're wearing them, aren't you?"

The robot paused with mouth half-open. It then shrugged and asked "You know where I can find a map?"

"I've got several here, yes." the organic replied.

"Could I use one? I'm trying to find a Thorndyke Residence."

"Thorndyke? You mean Sonic's place?" The organic's face lit up into a relatively cheerful one.

"Um... yeah," The robot replied.

"Why are you asking me where to find Sonic?"

"Well, the... the people down the street weren't exactly sober enough to give accurate directions."

"But everybody knows where Sonic lives. How does one random dude not know where Sonic lives?"

"I..." The robot had to shrug.

"I bet you're planning on something untoward at that place."

"I honestly cannot remember how long it's been since I was last here," the robot confessed.

"Amnesia?" The organic asked.

"Corrupted memory bits," The robot corrected.

"What?" He raised a brow. "You some kind of robot?"

The robot paused for a good two seconds. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Who are you?" The organic asked. The robot detected the organic's right arm moving- although the organic didn't try to show it.

"Classified," The robot automatically responded. "Apologies. Cannot break protocol."

"Well, do people call you anything?"

"Where I came from, they called me Stylus."

"Anything you can disclose?"

"I'm not sure I should."

"Come on man, it's not like you're being interrogated..."

A familiar-sounding sonic boom erupted from a distance, followed by more cheering.

"... Yet..."


	3. Chapter 3

Before Stylus could react, a white-gloved fist punched into the left side of his visor. The force was amplified by the extreme speed the attacker was going. Stylus' balance sensors scrambled and he tumbled into a shelf full of packaged chocolate.

Stylus scrambled to his feet, only to be met with a kick into the left side of the visor. He didn't get a good glimpse at the subject.

"Knuckles, take over!" came a cocky-sounding voice of a teenager. Stylus shook his head and threw an arm up in front of his face. This time, he managed to block another kick by the same attacker.

Stylus was then punched in the armoured gut by a second attacker. This one, Stylus got a good glimpse of.

A red echidna with dreadlocks. He looked like quite the savage. In an attempt to force the attackers away, Stylus swung his free arm. The armoured fist grazed off of the echidna's head, but it forced said echidna to jump back.

Stylus also stepped back, away from the duo. A blue hedgehog turned out to be the first attacker. Both fighters were glaring at Stylus.

Stylus then noticed that his left visor was cracked. He glanced at the bearded organic. Why the hell did he do that? Was he against robots? Was everyone in this city against robots? Was Robotropolis actually lost? Where was the Doctor?

This was definitely not a fight in his favour. Stylus had insufficient information on the echidna to fight effectively, and the hedgehog was fast... too fast... There was nothing Stylus could do that the hedgehog could retaliate with that speed.

Damnit, need to think. Need to-

A blast of electricity flooded Stylus. He dropped to the floor, unable to see who or what got the drop on him.

"Nice work, Tails," said the cocky voice.

"This one looks different, Sonic," said a deeper voice- it came from the direction of the echidna.

"New toys to study? I'm not sure if Eggman's improved or not with this one."

"He looks... too old..."

...

...

...

/REBOOT

/

/DAY: 3SWERRORR (The combination of characters was always different, but always had ERROR somewhere in it.)

/MISSION CLOCK: 99:99:99:99 (It was blinking, an obvious malfunction.)

/STATUS: NOMINAL (Physical systems-wise.)

/WARNING: HACK ATTEMPT IN PROGRESS. FIREWALL CAPACITY AT 100%

Stylus started screaming in his head. He really didn't like having people attempt to hack his brain- specifically designed to resist any and all hack attempts. It was a useful feature, in case he or a similar unit had been captured.

"What'cha got, Tails?" That cocky voice again.

"I can't get anything. A large portion of the data's corrupted- quite possibly with age. The rest of it is protected by a firewall I've never encountered before."

"Can you break it?"

No response. This "Tails" character was probably giving a visual gesture for an answer.

"I guess we'll need to question it."

Stylus' inner screaming switched to outer with a short, but big "NO!" Stylus then heard thumping- almost as if both of then jumped to their feet in response.

"Well well well," The cocky voice said, "I guess it's back to the worm."

"But it's not working."

"He wouldn't have known that if you hadn't just said it."

"I'm sure he does, Sonic. He is the subject I'm trying to hack into."

Stylus' visual sensors finally kicked in after the many other activations of other systems and processes. He rose his head to discover that he was chained to a table, hooked up to a computer.

"Well, can you fix all of the corrupted bits?" Sonic asked.

"Not with this computer. We'd need something more powerful... or maybe specialized."

"I guess we're paying Eggman a visit. Get the Tornado ready."

Stylus turned his head to watch the blue hedgehog and what appeared to be a two-tailed fox run down the stairs of... what was this, an attic?

Stylus continued scanning his environment, and spotted another one of those organics- except this one was about as tall as Stylus... and had a really bad case of hat hair or something. Three other characters were present- but keeping relatively silent. A pink... what was it, a hedgehog? She was reading a book- it was difficult to catch the cover. A rabbit in a dress was playing a card game with a chao.

Chao. Hell, there's a critter Stylus had never seen for... Fifteen years. There, that's one bit of memory that wasn't corrupted.

Stylus rose his head to get a better look at the chains. They were made of a hyper-dense alloy. There was no way he could force his way out of it.

More glancing around, and Stylus spotted his trousers, hat, and backpack set in a pile next to the sofa where the pink hedgehog sat. Stylus contemplated cursing to himself, but the rabbit and the organic looked to be mere children. It wouldn't be civilized.

Hell, at this point, being uncivilized would be the last thing he would want to do.

Turning his head toward the players, Stylus said "I used to have a chao myself."

No response from anyone except for the chao- who perked up almost immediately. The rabbit gave the chao a not-so-heartwarming look, and the chao sat back down onto the wooden floor.

"I'm not sure I understand why I'm here." Stylus said.

"You're an Eggman robot," the rabbit replied, looking up from her card game.

"Wait," the organic said, "How could an Eggman robot raise a chao?"

Good question. A better one Stylus could have asked was "Who's this Eggman fellow?" Unfortunately, the pink hedgehog was already speaking.

"Because he's obviously lying to try to warm us up to him, so in the event we release him, he'll take the chance to escape," she replied.

Stylus pursed his lips and nodded- returning his vision to the ceiling. Hey, it made perfect sense to him. Raising a chao was still true when it all came down to it.

Patrick- he was one hell of a swimmer- quite possibly the best. Stylus knew him for five reincarnations before nature finally took him away. Twenty-five years.

Stella. The name was familiar...


	4. Chapter 4

Stylus awoke from sleep mode one afternoon. The sun was near setting, the energy readings were at 100%. It was time to move.

His mechanized wings folded up and concealed themselves on his back. They were useless as wings- but they held great solar collectors. Stylus uses them to recharge whenever he has the time to do so.

His feet were locked together around the branch of a strong oak tree; Stylus was basically hanging upside-down. Stylus unlocked the feet and dropped head-first toward the ground. He then curled his body and rolled upon landing to prevent joint damage.

He checked his mission timer. He'd left Robotropolis about five weeks ago. Mission Clock read 17:35:22:30. Stylus stood up, brushed dead leaves off of his trousers, and picked his hat off of a ground-level plant he had used as a makeshift coat hanger. Stylus slipped the holes in his hat through the large, plated ears of his helmet, then continued moving.

He recalled asking the Doctor why he needed the hat and trousers and such. Doc replied "It makes you look more casual, laid-back. People won't react so negatively."

"He's still a robot," the Nephew pointed out.

Ignoring his nephew, the Doctor said "You're a specifically-designed robot, along with seventy-three others. You know what you're built to do, correct?"

At this point, there was no corruption in the memory. Stylus remembered nodding.

"And you know that your purpose requires you to never... ever... be taken down. You are a Stylus. Make me proud."

He remembered nodding again. The flashback ended when Stylus remembered he had been running for a few hours. It was now 1846 hours. The sun had started to set.

Before Stylus could take note of how fast time flew, he spotted a thermal anomaly in a concentrated area. Once he got a clear visual, it turned out to be a village with a bonfire in the middle. It was a surprisingly large community, what with the well-built cabins and barns. In the distance, Stylus spotted farmland. It appeared they had finished harvesting the crops. He assumed the bonfire party was a celebration of completing the harvest.

Stylus approached the village. He recalled the target in question. The only name given was "RELIC," Intelligence and the Doctor believed that RELIC had been in charge of supply routes to the Freedom Fighters across the world. At least, all the captured supply runners said they were running under orders by an entity called RELIC.

An elusive target, RELIC. Stylus was sent well beyond the range of communication to try to find RELIC using any means necessary.

Stylus was several paces away from the proverbial border of the party when a voice shouted from above. Stylus looked up to spot a watchtower set up among the cabins.

"Who goes there?" Asked the voice. It was difficult to tell who or what was in the tower, but Stylus could easily assume that a guard stationed at this time would be armed.

"An addition to the party, that's who goes there," came another voice. This one was a female. Stylus glanced to the source of the second voice to see a bat. The most noticeable feature of the friendly bat was the left ear, clipped and charred. Possibly from an accident of some sort.

"Howdy. Welcome to Chester."

Stylus paused. This wasn't part of any engagement strategy. Did this casual attire fool the locals this easily?

"Stella, what are you doing?" called the voice in the tower.

"We welcome everyone, Leo."

"But he's a robot! Metal Detectors confirm!" Leo shouted back.

The party surprisingly didn't stop. Stella shook her head, then turned to Stylus.

"You'll have to excuse Leo. Though considering all robots have directives, what's yours?" She asked.

"Classified," Stylus said, remembering to add "Unfortunately." to add an air of character to the statement.

"Well, you are looking for something, aren't you?" Stella asked.

Stylus slowly nodded, but didn't say anything. Stella raised a brow, expecting Stylus to continue. Stylus wasn't sure how to word it properly. He didn't want to make enemies right off the bat. That would increase his chances of never returning to Robotropolis.

"Well maybe I can help?"

"I'm looking for someone called RELIC. Supply runners aiding Freedom Fighters have all revealed to be working under this RELIC person."

Stella made a relatively goofy "Let me think" expression while crossing her arms. She then shrugged.

"Well, do you know anyone who does?"

Stella again shrugged. Stylus slowly nodded.

"Sorry we couldn't be of help."

Stylus continued nodded, then stopped. Wait, why were they so easy-going about helping robots?

"Wait, why are you being friendly to me?"

"Just the way most of us were raised," Stella replied. "Leo's one of those guys who's been to Robotropolis. It kind of changed him."

"I dunno, I rather like Robotropolis. Streets could've used better cleaning- or cleaning in general."

Stella smiled, then beckoned Stylus to follow. With no immediate way to find out who or where RELIC was, the robot decided to follow.

They walked past the party and into a cabin equipped with a garage door. It looked like a typical makeshift workshop. Oddly enough, there was no custom vehicle where one would expect. Instead, there was a heavily-damaged robot laying upon a table. A computer hummed next to the table.

"We found this one a few months ago," Stella said as Stylus approached the table to get a better look.

This one was a roboticized squirrel. He was similarly-geared, and was about Stylus' size- even up to the casual attire, or rather, idea of casual attire. A pistol and sniper rifle lay on another table- just out of the robot's reach, in the event that it would reactivate.

"He's gone?" Stylus asked.

Stella shook her head. "We haven't found a way to reactivate him, or at least salvage his memory core."

"You can't," Stylus said, "At least, I haven't heard of anyone or anything who can yet."


	5. Chapter 5

How much longer were Sonic and Tails going to take? Stylus glanced between the rabbit, the hedgehog, and the other organic, then to his stuff.

Stylus asked "Has anyone looked through my stuff yet?"

"Not yet," the pink one replied. "Once they come back, we will."

"And how much longer will that take?" Stylus asked.

"How long have they been gone?"

"About two hours," the rabbit replied after looking at a clock above the sofa.

The chained-up robot stretched its neck joints for the third time within the two hours. It was getting pretty boring.

Fortunately, the sound of air ship engines creeped into the ears of everyone else. It appears the jet- what was it, Tornado? It had returned.

Sonic and the fox walked up the stairs across the room again, with what appeared to be a strange-looking... what the hell was that, a robot in a rubber suit? Stylus gave a weird look, but it was hidden behind his helmet... Wait, why didn't they take off his helmet?

Ah well, it didn't matter. The rubber-suit robot was carrying a television. On the screen was a mustached man. Stylus rose his head with a gaping mouth.

Robotnik? No, it couldn't be. This guy looks much too different. The shaved head was a different shape entirely. The man also looked too young. after all, considering Patrick's lifespan and how long it's been since Patrick passed on, that's easily forty years difference.

"Doc?" Stylus asked.

"Who's this?" The man in the television asked.

"That's what we want to know, Eggman."

Eggman shrugged. "I'm not going to lie to you, even though I thoroughly enjoy it. I don't know this one."

"Unit 25? Stylus Long-range trooper? I was sent to kill RELIC."

Eggman slowly shook his head. "Never heard of any of that... Wait, why am I siding with my arch-nemesis for something as bland as this? I had a point to this call. Sonic, I'd bore you to death with another speech about how you must give up the Chaos Emeralds, but I'm going to just beat you to the punch for once. Bring them to Station Square tomorrow, or I will blow up the entire universe!"

Stylus looked to Sonic and Tails, who seemed unamused. The pink hedgehog had put on a pair of stylized earmuffs, obviously not really caring.

"Fine! But you know what I mean!" Eggman shouted before the screen cut to black. The rubber-suit robot tossed the TV to Sonic- which then exploded in Sonic's face. Rubber-suit got the hell out of there using its jet pack. The whole scene looked abrupt, comical, and out of place.

Stylus was scared for his life. He wanted to get out of here. Damn chains, too tough to muscle out of. It was currently impossible to break out. Sonic shook his head to regain his senses from the tiny explosion. "Still, that doesn't mean we're through with you. What was your name, Unit 25?"

"Folks just call me Stylus," the robot replied.

"What sort of folks?" Sonic asked.

"Friends."

"A robot? Friends?"

Stylus nodded, then spotted Tails picking up the backpack, bringing it to a table next to Stylus' tabletop prison. On the front strap, a knife was concealed- hidden to all but those who look closely. It was a relatively small knife, considering standard-issue sizes for combat personnel.

The knife was the first to be produced from the backpack, placed on the small table Stylus had the knife ever since his first assignment, and despite the obvious aging, he had kept the knife in excellent condition.

"Care to tell us what this is for?" Sonic asked, obviously and unsurprisingly thinking that Stylus used it for more untoward things.

Stylus would need to find a way around the corrupted memory bits in order to explain these belongings in detail.

"Wood carving, mostly. Hunting the rest of the time."

"Wood carving? Sonic asked as Tails produced a small ornate-looking wooden sword. It was much too small to be considered a knife. Hell, it looked like the perfect size for the rabbit's chao.

Said rabbit approached, while the chao stared intently at the wooden sword placed next to the larger carving knife.

"I assume it's one of your pieces?"

"I made it for Patrick."

"Your chao?" The rabbit asked.

Tails produced pieces of firearms. Pieces for a sniper rifle and a pistol, as well as a few mags for each.

"There's no ammunition," Stylus said, "Over the years, I ran dry."

All of the pieces were sloppily piled up on one side of the table. This was later followed by a crapload of spare parts- mostly folded-up materials that matched Stylus' armour. These spare parts were also sloppily piled next to the other sloppy pile. Tails then produced what looked like a small aquamarine.

"That was also Patrick's," Stylus confessed.

"You mean you actually raised chao?" The pink one asked.

"That's what I said earlier," Stylus replied, now staring at the roof.


	6. Chapter 6

RELIC was an elusive one. Stylus had absolutely no information to work with, and none of the nearby towns knew anything. He remained at Chester. Stella promised that information does rise now and again.

In the meantime, Stylus tried to salvage what he could from the long-dead comrade while Stella was busy repairing the blade of a plow. It was impossible to extract information from the memory banks because of the firewall, so Stylus resorted to taking the exoskeleton apart and sorting out the spare parts.

"Does he know that he's dead?" Stella asked. An unusual question, Stylus could admit.

"Better question would be why you're helping me, despite being a soldier for Robotnik," Stylus returned.

"Dictatorships always end, whether it's the death of a leader or a rebellion. Sure it could take a few years, maybe a few generations. Myself, I'd prefer concentrating on what's happening here and now."

"That seems like a selfish way of life," Stylus commented.

Stella smirked. "You're hunting this RELIC person with the intent to capture or possibly kill, yet you're not breaking fingers for information. Why is that?"

"I don't want to make unnecessary enemies."

"You plan on taking specific things from life, or else you get destroyed yourself. That also seems selfish."

Stylus paused. Was that the same thing? He looked at Stella, then back to the fallen robot.

"For instance, you're taking this one apart for your own spare parts."

"Survival of the fittest."

"Also known as the most selfish way of life."

Stylus shrugged. He couldn't really argue against, since there was only one "right" side to take, and the other involved redoing everything he had ever done. Arguments tend to suck that way.

"I hear about it a lot from Leo, but what do you think of Robotropolis?" Stella suddenly asked.

"What's it to you?" Stylus asked.

"He said it was a dismal-looking urban hell, but I've never been to any urban center. Always staying here, fixing the tractors, customizing equipment. Besides, Leo was the only one here who's been to Robotropolis, so his opinion's probably biased."

Stylus pondered a bit, then replied "Well, he's not wrong about it being dismal. More about personal taste. I don't mind it myself, but the streets could use a good sweep around the edges. Freedom Fighters keep blowing holes in assorted buildings, so the smooth architecture is thrown off." Pause. Stella looked intrigued. "Regardless, I wouldn't say that Leo is wrong."

Stella nodded, then turned back to continue smashing impurities from the repair job. There was now silence for several minutes.

Stylus asked "Are you against Robotnik?"

"I don't support him, but I'm not against him."

Stylus stared, a visual indicator that he wanted Stella to elaborate.

"I'm really apathetic towards the things that happen on another continent. Everyone else is too- even Leo."

"But you don't like Robotnik?"

"Do you?"

"He's not the most pleasant person, always ranting on about "King Acorn" this, "Freedom Fighter" that. Kind of harsh to his own nephew- though I don't blame him Snivley's the kind of guy who wouldn't help you push a jeep out of the snow, even with nothing better to do."

Stella nodded.

"Still, I'm pretty certain that the guy does care about some things. Still, orders are orders. Don't return until RELIC is captured or confirmed dead."

Stella made one final swing, then hefted the plow into a water barrel. The water hissed and steam billowed out. eventually, it stopped, and Stella hoisted the plow over her shoulder. "How long do you plan on staying?"

"As long as it takes. I'm built for long, far-off operations," Stylus replied.

Stella placed the plow relatively gently onto a storage rack with other repaired blades. "Well, I could get a place set up for you to rest. I'm sure a strong robot like you could help this community." She extended a hand- clad in a charred welding glove, "What do you say?"

Stylus finished removing a shin plate, then firmly took Stella's hand. It was a good handshake.


	7. Chapter 7

Stylus hummed to himself, still chained to the table. Nobody was in the attic. The current watch person- the organic with the strange hair- was called down by a person the kid called "Grandpa." The grandpa seemed to require an extra set of hands for something.

Stylus looked at the table where his gear still lay. Stylus shook himself to try to inch toward the table. He then attempted to reach the knife with his teeth... Come on, damnit... Stylus thrashed and bit the air, but to no avail.

He sighed. It was the next day, and most everyone was off to the location called Station Square to confront Eggman.

Stylus had an idea that everyone knew that the obviousness of the plan indicated a trap or some sort of trick. Even the kid- obviously never going to be a military specialist- could tell it might have been a trick.

Sure enough, a wub-wub-wub hovering noise approached the building Stylus was currently held in.

"Ah crap," Stylus muttered. He then started thrashing more than ever. Hopefully the repeated force would damage what the chains were attached to.

Too late, an explosion was heard outside, followed by shouting.

Stylus paused when a warning signal blinked on his HUD. Power levels low. Recharge required.

This was followed by more thrashing. After a few more seconds, Stylus gave up. He cursed to himself once, twice, thrice.

The kid suddenly ran up and started undoing the chains.

"If this attack was to get you back, they would have just sneaked in and pulled you out. You can't be an Eggman robot."

"Eggman's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard," Stylus quipped as he finally could move his limbs freely again. He then said "Thanks," as he started assembling both the pistol and rifle.

"You don't have ammo," the kid pointed out.

"No, but they're near indestructible," Stylus replied as he threw on his trousers, backpack, and hat. The robot then climbed out the window to get a real look.

There was a robot. It was big, but it looked far too different from the Good Doctor's style. There was no uniformity. It looked too unique.

Stylus clenched his armoured fists, trying to appear imposing. In reality, he had absolutely no way to fight fellow robots- especially bigger robots.

"Ah crap, I need an edge," Stylus thought to himself. The attacker paused from its house-busting to take note of this new opponent. The attacker resembled a massive armoured gecko, even down to the smooth outer plating. One single orb-lensed eye replaced what would typically be two. It was certainly stylized.

"Alright, Stylus. Think like hell," he thought to himself. His knife wouldn't be able to pierce the gecko's armour, and he has no ammunition.

The tail was bladed, meaning it had a long-ranged attack. In fact, the gecko decided to use its long-ranged attack.

Stylus narrowly ducked under a swing- which threw tens of shingles off the roof. It was followed by a downward strike. Stylus attempted to dodge to the right, but his foothold was not good enough. He slipped and dropped from the roof.

He landed on his plated stomach while the bladed tail embedded itself into the building- which Stylus assumed was a garage. The smaller robot pushed himself up and ran toward the gecko- which was trying to pull its tail out.

Before Stylus made it to the gecko, it made one big tug. Debris flew into the gecko's face- but it didn't really do anything. Before the gecko could follow up with an attack, Stylus already grabbed a hold of the gecko's left leg.

It was easy, actually. Even the smooth plating had edges. Stylus maintained his grip as the gecko started swinging its leg around.

Stylus' grip was strong. The only thing accomplished was the plating being peeled off, revealing circuitry and general weak points for a robot.

Stylus stumbled to regain his balance, then noticed the gecko was planning to follow up with another tail-swing. Desperately, Stylus hoisted the stolen armour piece to the side where the tail was coming from.

Said plating turned out to be useless. Stylus already knew it was a poor lapse of judgement. Come on, he was a robot. He was better than this.

Well, a robot that was over forty years old at least. The old-timer was launched into the concrete wall of the garage.

Every single sensor went haywire for a good three seconds. Not good. Stylus shook his head and got moving.

The gecko decided to move in for a direct punch. Stylus narrowly avoided the straight-on punch that smashed a hole through the wall.

The sensors quickly retained nominal performance, and Stylus tried his own punch. Given that the gecko was close enough, Stylus managed to embed his armoured fist into the circuitry of the left leg. Stylus sheathed his knife with the free hand and started slicing through the wires at random. Many were cut, but the gecko retaliated. It swatted Stylus away with the back of one hand, Stylus lost grip of his knife- which he saw embed itself into a nearby tree.

Meanwhile, Stylus flew through the glass tunnel between the main mansion and the garage. The robot bounced on the lawn and rolled to a halt on the parking lot pavement.

After regaining his "senses," Stylus pushed himself up. He stumbled a little and looked toward the gecko. The slicing of the leg did something, at least. The gecko was having a difficult time moving with what is essentially a dead leg.

Stylus lost his balance and dropped to the pavement again. He then scrambled to his feet again. The gecko was now targeting Stylus in particular.

That kid or his grandpa had better called for help by now. Stylus had few options left besides keeping distance.

He grabbed the sniper rifle tightly strapped onto his back, and held it barrel-first, not unlike a makeshift club.

"Come on, make my day!" Stylus shouted.

The gecko's tail swing was not as clean as when it did it with two functioning legs. Stylus easily dodged it and burst into a sprint toward the gecko's body.

Stylus swung his rifle into the kneecap of the right hind leg. Astoundingly, the plating buckled and jammed the leg with little damage to the rifle itself.

The gecko attempted to move forward, but only ended up falling forward.

Onto Stylus.


	8. Chapter 8

Stylus crashed onto the solid floor. Despite being made of wood, it didn't buckle under the crash.

"Hang on, I'll get this rigged with some cables," Stella said as she lifted the perch back into place. Stylus pushed himself onto a couch and shook his head.

"For a robot, you certainly act like an organic," she commented as she left into another room.

"It's a method of roboticization that transforms about 94% of the biomass. It's pretty specific. Any more, and the robot's mindless. Any less, and it still retains memories of its past life."

"I assume you don't know much of your past life?" Stella called from the other room.

"Actually," Stylus said, "I do."

Stella entered the room with a bundle of strong metal cables. A brow was raised as she entered. "I thought roboticization was widely considered a bad thing."

"To the Freedom Fighters, anyway. In a way, I know what they mean. As for me, I'm only about 89%." Stylus stroked his short muzzle beard with a plated thumb.

Stella started strapping a cable around the perch. "Why were you accepted into this anyway?"

"It was more a glitch in the system. I know a few others who suffered the same glitch and wound up joining the Freedom Fighters, or just plain vanishing. Robotnik didn't notice because... well... I actually wanted to be roboticized."

Stella's eyes widened. Her body tensed up- forcing her to accidentally push the perch. It clunked back onto the floor again. Stylus got back onto his feet and hoisted the perch back up for Stella to complete the reinforcement. She visually asked "Why?"

"I liked the idea of it," Stylus continued, "It was like the times I went to the library when I was a kid, and read up on philosophy. My most favoured subjects were the ideas of immortality. When I looked out in the dusty streets, I watched SWAT Bots patrol around the area. I thought "These are immortal soldiers serving a cause. It could have been a good or bad cause, but given proper treatment and maintenance, they could outlast me, outlast anybody."

"But they get destroyed by the freedom fighters."

"Some get destroyed, others get repaired, others may be the lucky ones that outlast the conflicts."

"Those who outlive Hell are the real winners, eh?"

Stylus nodded. Stella strapped the cable around a solid log that stood from floor to ceiling.

"That should do it." Stella said.

"What are your thoughts on it?" Stylus questioned.

"Interesting, if bordering on the line of insane," Stella laughed.

Stylus smirked. Many did call him insane when he posed similar ideas to others in the library.

"Anyway, if you need anything, I'm upstairs. Just be sure to knock."

At that, Stella left. The lights throughout the cabin began to fade until the cabin was shrouded in darkness- save from the light of a half moon.

Stylus locked his feet around the top of the perch and hanged upside-down. The solar panel wings unfurled and wrapped around Stylus. The power intake wasn't much, but he could buy a hour or two with the moonlight.


	9. Chapter 9

The gecko was attempting to move, but two arms with a lot of dead weight wasn't much making the cut.

Stylus was being ground into the lawn by the constant movement of the mecha-gecko. The movement was futile. It was incapable of further structural damage.

Eventually, the familiar sound of the Tornado filled Stylus' audio sensors. It was followed by a trippy-sounding buzz saw effect, and the gecko suddenly launched off of Stylus.

Stylus rolled onto his stomach and unfolded his solar panel wings. He was close to losing power completely at this point. He didn't care what was happening anymore.

He heard an explosion. Obviously the gecko had been destroyed. The mansion and garage were still generally in one piece. It was still a kind of victory.

He kept a firm grip on his sniper rifle. He didn't plan on moving until he attained at least 5%, so he could find a more appropriate spot to rest.

After a minute or so, he got to the five percent mark. Stylus pushed himself up and slung his sniper rifle again. Next up, collecting his knife.

He didn't notice that Sonic and the others were standing, waiting for the robot to notice them.

"Stylus," Sonic eventually said.

"Eh?" Stylus asked, turning his head toward the group.

Sonic gave Stylus a thumbs-up. "You did a cool job."

"Heh... Well, I'm quite possibly FUBAR, except hopefully without the BAR." Stylus grinned before laughing. "I'd better have done a good job."

This was followed by more laughter by other individuals- mostly those who would be old enough to know what FUBAR means. In other words, just the Grandpa. Stylus continued walking, when he noticed he was walking with a limp. Leg damage, damn. Must have been when the makeshift shield failed.

"Damn, where's my knife?" Stylus muttered aloud.

A blue blur, then Sonic appeared in front of Stylus, holding the knife by the flats of the blade. Stylus gripped the handle and slid it into the sheath on his backpack strap. "Thanks," Stylus said. "By the way, any place where I can rest vertically for once? Preferably with constant sunshine."

"Diving board's a good place for now, but if you're asking for a custom perch-"

"I'll build the perch," Stylus interrupted. "For now, the diving board."

"What about repairs?" Tails asked.

"The diving board," Stylus repeated.

"What about-"

"5% power left. I'd rather worry about other stuff when I have no risk of deactivating."

Stylus limped off toward the swimming pool in the back yard. He spotted it during his bout with the gecko.

Eh, it all could've been worse. The mansion and garage could've been flattened.

Along the way, Stylus heard conversation regarding what happened at Station Square. Sonic replied "Same old, same old. Eggman attempted to fight us with another flying robot."

Only two robots for what's implied to be one of many attacks? Eggman had no idea what he was doing when it came to world conquests.

Stylus climbed the diving board and locked his feet around the bottom of the handlebars. Fortunately, it was strong enough to hold the robot. Stylus' wings folded up around him, and he entered sleep mode.


	10. Chapter 10

He had woken up half an hour ago, and carefully climbed down from the diving board. Heavy metal and exposed circuits were not a good combination when it came to water.

Stylus assumed it was late afternoon. The sun was relatively low above the horizon. He was surprised to note that nobody was around to keep an eye on him.

The robot clambered through the hole in the garage, Despite the fluorescent lights, Stylus' visual sensors needed to re-calibrate to the relative darkness. The first thing he saw was a giant jet fighter of some kind. He assumed it was the Tornado some of the others mentioned. It looked pretty aerodynamic, if flashy. The fox was on the other side, performing a maintenance check on the aircraft.

Maybe this Anti-Eggman brigade relished the celebrity lifestyle. Giant, relatively well-secured mansion, private jet planes with supposed combat capability, able to take down giant hostile robots.

It still made Stylus wonder, where the hell was Robotropolis? There's no trace of it left. Zip, zilch, nothing.

Doctor Robotnik would never have let this happen, or at least his nephew would set up some kind of pre-recorded message or something. Or someone entirely different could have done the same, maybe another Stylus trooper who returned and saw the changes emerge, and hid a message for other Stylus troopers.

Unit 25 pulled himself up the stairs using the hand rails. Sonic and Co. were already up there, minus the organic with the weird hair, the fox, and the rabbit.

They noticed Stylus, little more. They already displayed their thanks. Stylus took off the backpack, the pistol, and the sniper rifle. Said pistol was strapped to his side in a similar fashion as the sniper rifle.

He took apart the weapons and stuffed them into his backpack again, followed by the aquamarine and the-

Hang on... the wooden sword was missing. Stylus turned his head to the others.

"Cream and Cheese were interested in it," the pink hedgehog said.

"I guess as long as they don't break it, it's fine," Stylus smiled. After zipping up the backpack, he scooped up all of the spare parts that were left on the table. A shin plate was missing as well. Stylus glanced around and found it on a nearby computer desk. "And this?" Stylus asked to the pink one.

"Ask Tails."

Stylus hummed, then picked up the shin plate and limped back down stairs. He hummed a tune he assumed nobody would know... Wait, he didn't remember when he learned it, or from who.

"Tails, is it?" Stylus asked.

The two-tailed fox looked at Stylus from under the Tornado's hull. "Yeah, that's me."

"Any reason to take my spare parts?"

"It's a material unlike any we use today," Tails replied.

"Well, some can consider me obsolete," Stylus chuckled.

Tails didn't seem to get the joke. He instead continued. "I mean it's a stronger material than what Eggman uses, stronger than what I use."

Stylus' grin faded. What? Did technology go backwards or something? Stylus was made of the same metals and such as any ordinary SWAT Bot. "Can't be much stronger, can it?" He asked.

Tails replied, "Well, it's like the difference between cast iron and steel, if that makes sense... No, that doesn't sound like a good analogy,"

"You mean like different smithery techniques."

"Yeah, kind of like that. There's a country a ways away where they make blades by flattening the piece as much as they can, then fold the piece and hammer it out again, all repeated."

"Yeah, I know that one."

"But the X Tornado's (Stylus gave a weird look, also hidden) hull was made with those techniques, and yet, your spare parts and armour are significantly tougher."

Stylus had no idea what deeper meaning that held. "Listen, I need some tools, need to fix this bad leg."

"Another thing, according to Chris, you took a major beating by the Eggman robot, but you don't have any dents in your armour aside from the damaged leg."

Crap, dents. Stylus forgot to check for dents... Wait, there weren't any dents? He felt a hand around his helmet and chest plate. Indeed, no signs of dents. His lips flattened, unsure of what to say.

Tails poked a thumb toward a nearby workbench. Stylus thanked the fox and limped to said workbench. He sat on a stainless steel stool, detached his leg (via relatively complex measures) and placed the leg on the bench itself. He got to work repairing his leg.

As he picked out a suitable arc welding system, Stylus Manually altered his visual sensors, basically synthesizing a welding mask lens. He then struck the arc and got to work.

He didn't know what Tails was doing, but Stylus was too busy to care. The kid could've been watching, but it didn't really matter. This was a basic fix-up.


	11. Chapter 11

Stylus' internal hydraulics shivered as he hoisted the side of the tractor over the height of his knees.

"Alright, now!" Stylus called. The three citizens of Chester placed a few cinder blocks under the lifted tractor.

"Blocks set, Stylus."

Stylus' internal systems groaned as he lowered the tractor onto the cinder blocks- forming a makeshift jack.

"Thanks, man," said one of the citizens- a fox farmer named Eugene. The fox was taller and slightly bulkier, but he didn't have the reliable machine strength Stylus had.

The fox patted Stylus on the back. Strong hand too. Stylus nodded with a smile and side-stepped to the back wheel

The immense tire had finally blown after (according to Eugene) a good few years. Surprisingly, it lasted longer than expected.

"You need to remind Stella to get that jack fixed up, eh?" another citizen, another fox named Irwin, commented. Stylus and Eugene were on either side of the tire, keeping it steady for Irwin to detach.

Stylus responded "She's been working on the hunting jeep. Seems like for every problem she solves, another one pops up."

"That jeep seriously needs to get replaced." Irwin said as he unscrewed the bolts that held the massive tractor wheel in place. "It's been working hard for us for over three decades now."

Silence lingered between the three of them and the other two citizens who came to help. Irwin was concentrating on getting the wheel off.

The last bolt was pulled out, and the other two citizens got ready to carry the massive tire. The four of them hoisted the tire and slid it off of the axle. One kept the tire standing while everyone else lifted up the new tire.

The same process happened, only in reverse. It wasn't an eventful tire replacement.

"Hell of a job lifting that thing, Stylus." Irwin commented.

"Hydraulics do that," the robot replied, "It really wasn't much."

"Well, time to do it again."

Stylus nodded, then readied a stance and grip. With a hup, he hoisted the side of the enormous tractor about an inch above the cinder blocks. The others reached under and pulled the blocks out. Stylus then slowly lowered the tractor to the ground.

"Thanks again, Stylus. See you later." Eugene said as he climbed back onto the tractor. The other two citizens started rolling the bad tire away toward the garage where the tractor was usually stored when not in use. Irwin walked alongside the tractor, making sure the wheel was tight.

Stylus returned to Stella's workshop. The robot on the table had been removed for six months now.

"How was the tractor problem?" Stella asked. It was hard to tell with the welding mask on, but she sounded like she was in a good mood.

"Blown tire, but we got a few people together to replace it."

"That's good," she replied.

"Something happen?" Stylus asked, "You seem in a better mood than usual."

"Nah. It's just good to be through with winter. All snow removal, ice-chipping, and guarding food supplies from predators. Although this jeep really isn't helping much."

Stylus smirked. The hunting jeep was an annoying piece of crap car. It had a good engine, and it generally ran exceptionally. Unfortunately, the parts used were mostly trite.

Which is why every time there was a faulty part, Stella replaced it with a superior custom-welded variant.

"I really should just tear this thing apart and replace it all with pieces I know would work," Stella commented as she kicked a hub cap with her snow boots. "Would be too much work at once, and there's so much to do."

"Eugene and the others mentioned the jack."

"I know, I know." Stella walked to her project shelf. She scanned through all of the assorted damaged tools that filled the shelves. "I could definitely use some help."

At the moment, Stylus basically helped around the community, flowing like water, as the town sage Patriarch Lorem would sometimes say.

Then again, dedicating more time to help Stella would get tools back to the community faster. Stylus had no reason to say no. Then again, he never considered saying no. His response was an immediate "I've got smaller fish to fry."

Stella lifted her welding mask. Underneath was a warm smile. It was a visual thanks.

Stylus remained at the workshop. First things first was fixing the jack.

"Do these things break often?" Stylus asked as sparks flew from his welding of the jack.

"Not as often as that piece of junk jeep, but yeah," Stella replied as she claimed a different workbench and started fixing up another replacement piece for the jeep. "Sometimes a tool is FUBAR, and those give us no choice."

Stylus paused. He recalled feeling the tractor push the hydraulics nearly beyond the limit. He fortunately didn't break, but... what if it did happen?

What if I break, Thought Stylus, What if I become FUBAR?

"Tools don't last forever, but we can make them last as long as possible," Stella added.

Stylus thought for a moment as he smoothed out the jack repair, then tested it. He then said "You knew that my supposed immortality wasn't real, didn't you?"

Stella huffed amusedly. "Like a dictatorship, nothing lasts forever."

What was this Stylus started to feel, was it fear? paranoia? No, he must be immortal, ageless.

"Don't take it too bad," Stella said, almost as if she could sense the paranoia. "After all, doesn't life feel more worth it when it's short? You try new things? Live like you'll die the next day?"

A hedonistic view on life, yes. It appeared to be the only way to calm down this paranoia. "Yeah... I want to try something new." Stylus finally muttered.


	12. Chapter 12

The repaired leg clicked into place back within the specialised socket. Stylus performed some calibrations and a systems check to discover that the repairs were solid, next to perfect. It wasn't the first time he had to repair a damaged limb, anyway.

Still, he was running low on spare parts, and the fact that this new society had no access to more of the material... Hang on a second.

How did all the metal up and vanish? He could imagine that the place could've been ruined only to have the city built over it, but nobody salvaged any of the metal?

Then again, he had no idea if the place was ruined or not. Only one way to find out.

"Is there a way to get underground easily?" Stylus suddenly asked Tails- who was just about to climb upstairs.

"Well, the city's got a sewer system-"

"How do I get down there?" Stylus asked as he dumped the remaining spare parts into his backpack.

Tails yawned, replying "Just find a manhole cover. Lemme get some sleep."

Stylus raised a brow, then deactivated the welding equipment before leaving through the hole in the wall. The sun had set. Most everyone was going to sleep at this point, not unlike Tails.

Manhole cover, Stylus assumed it was a covered hole. It would be easier to find one on the monotone gray streets. Sure enough, a few paces away from the front gate of the mansion's front yard, there was a circular metal plate that appeared to cover an opening in the ground.

Stylus attempted to climb the gate, but said gate unfortunately was build to resist climbing. He cursed to himself and scanned the gate further. The surrounding walls were smooth, and therefore useless as grips.

Stylus walked to one end of the gate, where the horizontal bar at the top was lowest. Stylus jumped, then jumped... then jumped as high as he could. The gate was still significantly taller. Stylus kicked the ground, then flinched when the gate started to open.

He spun around, trying to find who did it. Turned out a tall man in a tux- complete with an expression that conflicted between amusement and annoyance- was holding what looked like a remote.

Stylus waved his thanks and exited the property. He lifted the manhole cover and pushed himself in. Before climbing down, he scanned the environment for some kind of location marker.

He found the street and road numbers, then committed them to uncorrupted memory. Satisfied that he won't get lost, he climbed down- replaced the cover in the same position as he did.

Stylus reached under his helmet with his armoured hand and something clicked. Two circular lights blinked on from behind the visor, the only time the visor appeared to have eyes in general.

Stylus pointed his "eye-lights" down as he lowered himself. Eventually, he dropped the last few feet into an absurdly spacious sewer. Specifically, a raised platform next to a river flowing southward.

Stylus looked down both sides of the corridor, No end in sight either way. The robot then decided to go north.

Who was he kidding? There's no way he could find anything. This is all the same structural style as all of those other buildings those organics have. Damnit, I should've thought this through, Stylus grimaced.

If there was any kind of buried ancient stuff, governments would've found out from digging out this sewer system. They would've salvaged what was found a long time ago.

Stylus slammed an armoured fist against the wall. He wasted time, and was still on square one. The robot sat down, thinking. The only way a hidden cache of long-past material could stay hidden down here is if someone had moved shop.

Nothing made sense. Robotropolis was gone without a trace, replaced with this unpleasant city filled with unfamiliar organics.

Stylus stood up again. He decided to continue onward. He knew the address of the mansion, so he could pop up anywhere and figure out where to do from there.

Just walking through the dark, dank, ridiculously easy-to-describe sewer tunnel. At this point, everyone else was asleep. Stylus focused on the mission clock in his heads-up display. He needed to fix that, or at least get a watch of some kind.

Stylus hummed as he walked. A tune he learned one year since he arrived at Chester.


	13. Chapter 13

Stella had been under the weather, along with most everybody else- save for Patriarch Lorem, Eugene, and Irwin. The Patriarch doesn't leave his house often on account of being old, and the two fox farmers had been out on the road the past week.

Stylus was the only one who wasn't sick, for obvious reasons. He was carrying a bundle of firewood over each shoulder. The Harvest celebration party was post-poned to next week due to the bug that got around.

Stylus tossed the bundles off of his shoulders and started untying the ropes that held them together. He pulled his knife from the sheath on the backpack strap and started whittling the log, peeling away layers so the bonfire could burn stronger and easier.

He whittled a few logs before coming across a certain log that looked oddly-shaped. Distracted, Stylus started cleaving off bits he deemed weren't good-looking. He tossed the removed chunks into the fire pit as he carved. Stylus sat there, carving for a few hours. It was rather easy. The piece was a softer wood than the rest.

Eventually, Stylus clipped the last bit of excess off that he planned to cut. In his armoured hands was a relatively sloppy-looking statuette of Stella.

"Eh, crap." Stylus muttered. It didn't look a thing like Stella. Hell, the only indicator that it was a figure in general, let alone Stella in particular, was the damaged-looking ear.

Stylus shook his head in disappointment at his failure. He then remembered that he had a point to sitting at the fire pit. He whittled the statuette to hide that he even attempted the piece, then tossed it in with the others.

"Never thought a robot could try its hand at artwork," came an elderly voice.

Stylus turned his synthetic head. It was Patriarch Lorem.

"Why didn't my motion sensors detect you?" Stylus asked.

"I came here when I noticed you were putting more effort to a piece of lumber. You probably weren't paying attention."

The Patriarch inched his way to the bench and sat down next to Stylus. His cane was thin, but reliable. The old sparrow watched as Stylus continued whittling.

"I was a pretty good wood carver back in my day," Lorem said. "I usually came to town with my best. All during an arts festival, of course." A pause. Lorem wore a smile that could melt ice in seconds. "Even met my wife on the third year I went. Bless her soul."

Stylus paused as well, turning his head to the Patriarch. He didn't know Lorem had a wife. Lorem seemed to detect the question before the robot could ask it.

"She's been gone for a few years now. She'd be ninety-two now."

"And you?" Stylus asked.

"Ninety-three now. My time is coming very soon."

"And you're not at all worried?"

Lorem adjusted his position so he was closer to facing Stylus. "I know your views on life and death, and how you want to achieve immortality. I knew many good men and women who shared your interests. I wouldn't be surprised if they read the same books you have."

The sage stopped, looking at the pile of whittled lumber that sat in the center of the fire pit.

"But...?"

Lorem flinched, then continued. "Even I relished the idea of living forever. Everyone does at some point in their lives. However, it's thoughts and dreams like those that we make mistakes over."

"Such as?"

"Falling in love, for instance." Lorem chuckled, even wheezed and coughed. Stylus dropped his knife to pat the Patriarch on the back. The aged sparrow choked twice and took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said before continuing. "My wife wasn't interested in that sort of thing, immortality. She told me that when we found out that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together."

Stylus picked up his knife and continued whittling, while still paying attention.

"Tell me, Stylus," Lorem asked, still warm-hearted and cheerful, "What would your Doctor Robotnik do if you return in the same fashion as that one robot you took apart?"

The robot stopped again, then leaned back a bit. He had no answer.

"Would he repair you, or take you apart until nothing remained?

Stylus remained silent. Conflicting ideals bounced around his synthetic mind.

"After over sixty years, I learned that the idea of immortality was an illusion. It wasn't you lasting forever. It was how much of an impact you made, and hoping to whatever higher force out there that others will want to keep the memory of your exploits alive."

The robot nodded.

"At the end of the day, would anyone want to keep the memory of Doctor Robotnik alive?"

Stylus slowly shook his head. Logically, there wasn't much of a way to like Robotnik. Even a loyal robot like Stylus had to admit.

"Of course, you're a robot, so you're obviously programmed to follow his orders, and finding this RELIC person."

It's been a year now, and no RELIC in sight. Nobody's even really heard of RELIC. Not even in the surrounding communes or the big town of Fearless Winds.

"There's been no evidence that RELIC even existed," Stylus said. "What do you think that means?"

Lorem shrugged, the faint sound of creaking bones accompanied the spontaneous action. "Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was no RELIC, maybe he lied."

Stylus' processors were starting to overclock. Paranoia. Fear of abandonment. Goddamnit, this can't be true. This isn't making sense... RELIC had to be here. The Doc wouldn't flat out lie.

"But would it matter?" Lorem asked. The question stopped Stylus' processors. "After all, if he hadn't sent you this way, you wouldn't have met all of us, you wouldn't have met Stella. She's very fond of you, even."

"Say what?" Stylus asked as Lorem giggled.

The elder pushed himself onto his feet using his cane. "Funny that you act confused. Most of the town's known it; even Leo. It's also easy to see that you're fond of her."

Stylus cocked his head.

"I'll admit: It was a crap carving job, but I could tell it was her. My only advice to you is to practice. Maybe if you get good enough, I could take you to the next sculptor's convention. As for Stella, well..." Lorem shrugged. "It's not one of those things you can truly get advice for."

Lorem laughed and coughed as he left. Stylus watched as the Patriarch slowly walked back to his own shelter of choice. He also listened as the Patriarch whistled a tune all the way. A tune he committed to memory on account of he liked the sound of it. The robot then turned back to his whittling duty, and started practicing wood carving some more.


	14. Chapter 14

That was the seventeenth manhole entrance Stylus passed. He didn't make any turns, only walking straight north. Eighteen now... Nineteen...

He passed by vandalism. It looked to be some sort of artsy thing. Stylus noticed something different. It looked like... Kintobor, hidden amongst the slurs regarding how the government was full of blank," and all that corruption hogwash.

Kintobor, as in Robotnik? No, he couldn't be alive for the same reasons Robotnik couldn't have been alive. Hell, the vandalism could just be a coincidence.

Stylus didn't really care at this point. He examined the vandalism further to try to find other clues. He then noticed lines on either side, almost as if someone had removed the wall and replaced it after conducting business- then given the vandalism so the weaknesses wouldn't be noticed as easily.

He smiled, then rose a foot and thrust it forward.

The kick slammed on the concrete wall. Oddly enough, the impact felt relatively hollow, not at all solid. Stylus kicked the wall again... and again... and again and again.

Cracks emerged. Stylus continued kicking. After a few more kicks, the cracks were getting large and spread-out. He then resorted to punching the wall repeatedly with his armoured fists. The wall was heavily damaged by the time Stylus stopped, but it was nowhere near collapsing. Stylus kicked the wall one more time before deciding to give up for now.

He started looking around for something more suited for destroying the wall. A dropped crowbar? Another maintenance tool lost by whoever else goes down here? No? Stylus shrugged, then resumed beating the wall.

A few hours passed. If he had to guess, Stylus assumed it was around 2 in the morning. One last punch managed to break through to empty air.

Indeed, the area was hollow. Stylus gripped the other end of the wall and pulled as hard as he could. A large chunk buckled, and Stylus followed up with another kick. At this point, there was an obvious weakness in the wall, so any further hits would make a major difference.

Eventually, Stylus broke open a hole big enough for him to climb through. He checked his armoured fists- which were covered with dust. The robot shook his hands to get some dust off, followed with wiping some more off with his trousers.

He pointed his eye lights into the hollow area, to find that it was a makeshift stone stairwell leading further down. Just in case, Stylus produced his knife before entering the stairwell.

There was no light, or even evidence that lights had been set up. No torch holders or long-spent glow-sticks. Just the crappy-looking stairs and a spiral leading further down. There wasn't even any light at the bottom.

Stylus continued down the spiral stairwell. Suddenly, a light shone down on Stylus.

His head shot up. His eye lights shown on... It was hard to tell with the other flashlight hitting his optic sensors.

The other flashlight was turned aside. It was Sonic, that blue hedgehog.

"I heard you went out," Sonic said, "How'd you know about this?"

Stylus shrugged. "I didn't, though I thought I had an idea."

"And what idea was that?"

Stylus looked down the stairs again, then back up at Sonic.

"Lots of different ideas. I'll have a better answer once I find out what's down there."

"Once we find out," Sonic corrected as he zipped down to Stylus' level. "I've run through every part of this city, but I haven't noticed that wall before."

"I guess that's a disadvantage for moving so fast," Stylus commented as he jumped across a few damaged steps, followed by Sonic. "By the way, does anyone know you're here?"

"I've got a beacon in case we get stuck here," Sonic replied, holding up what appeared to be a device similar to the small telephones those organics usually had.

The duo continued climbing down. Sonic yawned, but it didn't sound convincing. "You know what?" Sonic asked, "I can carry Tails, Knuckles, and Amy at once. I'm pretty sure I can carry a robot your size."

Stylus shrugged, and let himself be carried. It didn't feel dignified, but he knew he had wasted enough time as it is. Sonic was also really really fast.

Within seconds, Sonic screeched to a halt at the apparent bottom. Stylus hopped off and scanned the environment.

It looked to be a dead-end, except there were two other robots Stylus' size.

Sonic stayed back as Stylus ran up to examine them. Both were deactivated, but it didn't look like they did so on their own free will.

There were also assorted scavenged materials. Familiar-looking ammunition, a few boxes full of metal bars, and Stylus could salvage from these two robots in case they were like the squirrel-bot he took apart back then.

Stylus looked to Sonic, who nodded before speeding his way up the stairwell again, most likely to activate the beacon. The robot then looked to the other two robots.

"Only Doctor Robotnik had the necessary overrides to salvage your memory cores." Stylus muttered. The robots were another squirrel and a rabbit; both male. Both were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

The Harvest celebration went on as planned the next week. Everyone was back to perfect health by that time. The bonfire roared in the center. Many citizens roasted assorted nuts, meats, and even fruits.

Stylus sat on a bench relatively close to the fire, staring intently at the whittled wood charring and falling apart into the charcoal pile that filled the bottom of the fire pit. He held an object wrapped in cloth. He was relatively nervous about this secret. He only had a week of practice, trying time and time again to make the perfect statuette, but this still wasn't that perfect statuette he imagined.

Stella was sitting at a table with Eugene, Irwin, and a few others. They were talking about the trip. Stylus wasn't part of the conversation because he was the first one to welcome the farmer brothers back.

Eventually, Stella passed through the party and took a seat next to Stylus. "So what's in the burlap sack?" She asked.

"Fruits of my efforts," Stylus replied, "I've been trying something new."

Stella huffed. "Let's see it then, Artisan."

Stylus removed the sack. The carving was definitely superior to the first attempt, but it still looked like relative crap. Stella smiled. Stylus offered the finished carving.

"You do realise it's crap, right?" She asked as she took the statuette in her hands.

Stylus laughed, more at himself than anything. "Well, Lorem did say that practice makes perfect."

Stella wrapped an arm around Stylus' torso. "Thanks anyway," Stella said as she leaned into the robot's arm. "I doubt my armour plating is that comfortable," Stylus commented.

Stella didn't turn her head. Instead, she stared at the fire. "My work stool's less comfortable, and I can sit on that thing for hours."

Stylus smiled, then wrapped his own arm around Stella's shoulder. "Well," the robot said. "What are you going to do?"

"I've got a bottle of wine we could share... Oh wait, you can't drink," Stella laughed. "More for me then."

Stylus frowned jokingly. That only made her giggle more. She then dug her head into the robot's side some more. "Man, it sucks that you're not organic as well."

His frown became less of a joke. Yeah, in a way, it did. He finally found a girl he wanted to get to know, and this is years after he got himself roboticized. Back then, he never thought about mating in general. Now it was too late; robots can't reproduce.

Both of them sighed. Stella then said "I dunno, the personality's more important to me than reproduction anyway."

"This one book I read had a quote," Stylus commented, "Take everything as it comes by. The wave passes, deal with the next one. I never figured out exactly what it meant until now."

"That's an easy one to decipher." Stella teased.

"Heh, I guess it is," Stylus replied. They continued watching the fire burn as everyone else partied out.

They both left for Stella's house during the party. She broke out the bottle of wine, and they did rather untoward things- well, whatever untoward things they could do.

There you go, furries, an aversion to the over-complicated sex scene that's cut short before it could sta-


	16. Chapter 16

Stylus hoisted both robots over his shoulder, and carried them over to the makeshift elevator made by improvising a plate taken off of the X Tornado. Sonic was also down there, picking up the other boxes and such to put onto the cargo elevator.

The robot did one last scan of the cave to learn that they had salvaged everything from this cave. While Sonic raced back up, Stylus stepped onto the elevator. He tugged on the cable twice, and the cargo elevator shifted upwards.

He was on said elevator to make sure nothing fell out. At this day and age, Stylus needed to make sure he got all he could get. It would be an interesting project for Tails as well: Synthesizing the same metal, that is.

The elevator was surprisingly stable for being improvised. Tails made some reliable gadgets on a whim when he needed to. Eventually, it reached the top, and Stylus started passing the boxes and bodies to Sonic, Tails, and the pink hedgehog- Damn, he never got a chance to learn all of their names, did he?

"I never caught your name, mind," Stylus said as he passed the pink one a relatively lightweight box.

"I'm Amy Rose," she replied. Huh, the only one with a full-blown last name. Times have changed.

Stylus picked up one of the bodies and tossed it onto the edge. He then picked up the other body and jumped off of the elevator. Everything was taken off; that was good.

Everyone picked up their own thing, except for Tails- who stayed at the elevator to take apart the makeshift contraption along with the Chris kid.

Stylus again carried both bodies over his shoulder while Sonic and Amy Rose carried the rest of the boxes- stacked up.

The boxes were piled up next to a manhole ladder. Sonic picked two up and started building up speed. Once he achieved enough speed, the blue blur blasted up the wall with boxes in tow.

Stylus figured the X Tornado was parked nearby for Sonic to load up the salvaged cargo. He repeated the same thing for the rest of the crates, then sped back to help Tails and Chris.

Stylus- with the two lifeless shells secure over his shoulders, started climbing up the manhole. Amy remained on standby in case Stylus dropped one of them.

Eventually, Stylus hoisted himself out of the manhole, where he was greeted by craploads of camera flashes. Stylus covered his visual sensors- which were going haywire from all the flashing. What the hell is this?

So this is what that one guy meant by paparazzi. Freaking stalker-ish dudes taking flash photography pictures despite it being broad daylight. Luckily, police were around to keep them away from the manhole cover.

Shaking his head, Stylus carried the two bodies to the X Tornado. There, he stuffed them into a storage compartment. As he did so, questions were directed at him.

"Are you an Eggman Robot? Where did you come from? Why are you allied with Sonic if you're an Eggman Robot?" Most of the questions contradicted the presence of other questions. Stylus recalled that one organic describing paparazzi as... "annoying."

Indeed, they were. Stylus shook it off by reaching under his helmet and turning off his audio sensors. There came the sweet sound of silence, the first time Stylus had to use it since...

... Eh, more corrupted memory bits. He couldn't remember.

Amy emerged, and seemed to bask in the photography. At least one of them liked the attention. It was a positive way of thinking, after all.

Stylus closed up the compartments before he felt something. It felt like a short quake. Stylus turned on his audio sensors and spun around. There stood a big robot, similar to the gecko, but slightly larger, and more shaped like a big cat.

"Sonic!" Amy shouted down the manhole before narrowly dodging a swipe from the cat.

Stylus started opening up compartments, trying to find the boxes. Damn, where did Sonic put them?

Amy continued calling for help. Stylus didn't want to ask why. He never saw her in combat yet, so why judge?

Finally, the third compartment opened held a box. Stylus threw it open and produced a large-ish empty magazine from his backpack.

He grabbed a handful of unspent shells and quickly loaded them up. They looked to be a high caliber, but a perfect size for the magazine.

He then started assembling his rifle. Again, as quickly as he can. The cat seemed more interested in playing keep-away with Amy, using the manhole as the thing to be kept away from.

Stylus slapped the full magazine in place. It was the first time in years he heard the sound, and he considered it beautiful. Although he might not need it. Sonic apparently heard the distress call and ran to the rescue. The cat swiped, dodged by Sonic. More swiping, more dodging.

Something wasn't right. With the Gecko fight, Sonic tore the thing apart immediately. In this one, the hedgehog's not even on the offense. Stylus decided "Screw it" and took aim while in a secure stance.

He set the fire setting to AUTO and squeezed the trigger. Rounds punched through the robot's armour like a hot knife through butter. As cliche a phrase that was, it was no less true. The enemy robot had been riddled with large holes within seconds. Smoke erupting from each hole, the giant robo-cat dropped to the street.

"What the?" shouted a confused voice from above. Stylus looked up to see this Doctor Eggman guy in a hover craft. He took aim and pulled the trigger again. An unsatisfying click emitted from the rifle. Damn, he wanted to tear this Eggman guy a new one for impersonating his master. "That's cheating! You can't do that!"

Odd, cause in a real war, there's no such thing as cheating. Stylus didn't have the heart to say that. Instead, he pulled out the magazine and started reloading it.

"You'll pay for this!" Eggman shouted before flying away.

Sonic and Amy looked speechless. Stylus just shrugged and loaded all of the magazines he had. There was still an ample supply of ammunition when he finished, so he could study them again. After all, his memory of making extra rounds had been among the first bits that got corrupted.

Sonic then shrugged and hopped down the manhole again. Amy appeared to still be in shock. Then again, how would one react to an ally suddenly pulling out an automatic and completely decimating a large enemy robot in a whole anticlimactic five seconds.

A government cleanup crew arrived as the X Tornado started to lift off. Stylus assumed it was to salvage tech from the robot. After all, who wouldn't want their own giant robots to send around causing wanton destruction?

Stylus clambered onto a passenger seat near the back of the plane along with the Chris kid. Amy seemed to prefer a different seat entirely, opting to take the co-pilot seat on the front of the plane. Sonic, for some strange reason, seemed to prefer sitting on the outside.

As the X Tornado lifted off, Chris was staring at the carnage left.

"Take a picture," Stylus commented.

"I don't think I want to," Chris replied. He looked a little disturbed.

"I had little choice, mind you," Stylus said, looking back at the kid, "Sonic certainly wasn't on the offensive like last time."

"It's not that. I've never seen something like that. Nobody has in the time Eggman's been tormenting us. The government's going to be all over this."

Stylus glanced between Chris and his handiwork. It would explain Sonic and Amy's shocked expressions further. All this would do was pull even more attention to themselves. Stylus sighed and leaned forward, putting his chin in one hand.


	17. Chapter 17

The plane landed in front of the familiar Thorndyke Garage. Stylus guessed that they had three hours before The Man's cronies came along to try to figure out what exactly happened. Stylus said he could carry everything in by himself, so everyone else left to do their own thing.

It was early in the morning at this point, but the sun was already out. Amy and Chris entered the mansion, Sonic ran off elsewhere, and Tails entered the garage.

Soon, Stylus finished carrying the boxes and bodies in. He then started taking apart the long-dead robots until their memory cores remained. He planned to safe-guard them in two of the boxes in the event that an opportunity to salvage their memories came.

First off, sorting out the stuff in the crates. There were lots of ammunition for Stylus' side arm and rifle. Both of which are standard-issue for troopers of his brand. There were also bars of the material he required more than ever these days, as well as tattered blueprints for bullets. After all, they're considered discontinued, but not obsolete.

He sorted out the rounds to two of the boxes, and the bars to as few as possible. While emptying a crate of bars, Stylus came across a small hand-held console.

It was old, but well-preserved. Stylus attempted to turn it on. Apparently, the power supply had been taken out. "Alright then," Stylus muttered before placing the small console onto the workbench. He put each of the cores into a box and locked them up tight. Of course, there were still spare parts in a neat pile next to the console. The robot would take care of it later.

After that, Stylus started carrying the boxes upstairs, sliding them under the table he had been chained to the first time he was here. That still left the spare parts and the console.

Stylus was about to ask Tails for a favour when he spotted the fox shifting in a sofa bed while wearing a comical night cap.

Nevermind then, Stylus thought as he returned downstairs. There were a few taller organics in suits standing outside the garage-side gate a few meters away.

They appeared to be patiently waiting to be noticed. Before Stylus could be the one to potentially offer hospitality... or a knife to the legs... another man in a nice suit approached the gate.

Oh wait, that was the butler. Stylus recalled seeing him. Despite high-quality audio sensors, it was difficult to determine what was being said. Stylus just shrugged and searched the place for a good bag to hold the spare parts in. He used his backpack, of course, but he only had enough space for a quarter of a body's worth. Perhaps he could go out sometime later and get materials to make one. Sewing can't be that hard... Or did he try it before...?

He couldn't remember, which is a familiar thought by now. Corrupted memory bits and all. Stylus decided against carrying the spare parts manually upstairs. The clanking and junk heap sounds would peeve off Tails.

Stylus stared at the console once more before turning to walk outside. There were quite a few suited men, and the butler probably wouldn't be able to take care of them.

They were big dudes, obviously kept themselves fit to maintain optimal performance on-assignment. They reminded Stylus of himself.

"Ah, just the man we wanted," the closest man-in-black said.

The butler looked at Stylus, then asked in a remarkably cool and collected tone "How do you know about him?"

"I'm guessing it's because I tore apart an Eggman robot."

"As effectively as Sonic, even. But your method's different. It can be harnessed by good men and women who fight Dr. Eggman."

"As much as I'd like to help soldiers like myself, I want to make my side clear," Stylus paused, making sure all of the men-in-black were listening. "I am not going to supply this manner of weapons or ammunition to anyone other than myself."

"That's a pretty selfish claim," one man commented.

"And yet, if I let you boys have it, your government will probably have the most effective small arms for quite possibly generations."

Stylus paused. He started remembering some things. He remembered the first big regret of his life. "That's right, I did give away my tech before..."

The details were fuzzy in his memory banks, but it involved an armadillo blacksmith figuring out how to synthesize the metal, and developing weapons with said metal.

Stylus was unofficially married then, to Stella of course. Lorem and the other townsfolk accepted it- hell, even had expected it for a long time.

He remembered selling a bar to the armadillo, thinking that said armadillo was going to use it to juice up his own tools. Stylus also needed the money in order to pitch in for a new tractor. The old one finally croaked for good.

It wasn't a good idea in hindsight, and it resulted in a town getting burned to the ground. Stylus had to go in and murder the armadillo himself. So much of the synthesized stuff lay around the armadillo's slowly burning workshop. The robot's hands tightly fastened around the smith's throat. Stylus could have crushed the neck immediately, making the death quick. Instead, he took his time.

It was relatively thrilling. Stylus almost forgot that same thrill. He hadn't been back at Robotropolis for sixteen years. Stella was thirty-five now, and one hell of a worker at this point.

He swore never to let anyone he didn't fully trust to handle the metal ever again.

Stylus told the basic story, mentioning only the smith, the ill intent, and Stylus having to fix the problem himself. Of course, the men in suits seemed to react as if Stylus just invented the story so he could have a reason to tell them off. With a confident smirk, one held a hand through the gate, holding a simple business cart containing nothing but a phone number. "In case you change your mind," the man said before they all left.

Stylus glanced at the butler, who had one hell of a poker face. It was next to impossible to read. "Got a light?" the robot asked. The butler shook his head.

"If there a fireplace in the mansion then?"

"No," the butler replied.

Stylus shrugged, and started walking back to the garage.

"I was joking, Master Stylus."

Stylus paused, then huffed amusedly. He never was used to being a superior metaphorically. He could kill Robotnik if he really wanted to, but he didn't want to. He still considered Robotnik his superior.

An odd thing to happen over forty... forty... Plus another sixteen, recalling that Stella was thirty-five at that time. Fifty-six confirmed years so far.

The robot resumed his trek. Instead of entering the garage, he made his way to the swimming pool diving board. Once there, Stylus repeated the same process and unfolded his solar collector wings.

Sleep mode activated. Stylus continued thinking, trying to determine how long he had been gone.

How old was Stella when Patrick entered their lives? Damn corruption.

He returned from sleep mode a couple of hours later. Afterward, Stylus returned to the garage... They really needed to fix that hole.

As he started sorting out the spare parts, Stylus started remembering missing data. After the armadillo incident, Stylus returned home to find that Lorem was dying.


	18. Chapter 18

"A hundred... and eight years," Patriarch Lorem wheezed. "That's... got to be a... record..."

Stylus stood at the death bed, along with all of the other citizens. The Elder's room was distinctly lacking on the inside, save for a few chairs, doors to other rooms, and an end table beside the bed. Atop the table was a carved wooden piece. It was Stylus' finest at the moment. It even had a first prize medal wrapped around it.

He had won it a few months ago, the first time since he started the hobby. After about thirteen straight attempts at the contest, Stylus finally won a prize: first prize to boot.

And this happened to be on the year Lorem's kicking the bucket.

The robot replied softly, "Don't say that."

Lorem smiled. "Or what? ... You'll shoot me?" His laughter was surprisingly strong, but it was cut short by coughing. "I told you many times... I'm welcoming this time... with open arms... I'll see my wife again... in the next... plane of existence."

Everyone was welling up inside. Most everyone had known Lorem ever since they lived here. For many, including Stella, it was ever since they were born. Stylus had his wife wrapped in his arms. Even at their ages, everyone acted like children.

Stylus admittedly understood what everyone must have been feeling. He just lacked functioning tear ducts and therefore didn't quite look like he was crying. Even if he did, his helmet covered the top half of his head anyway.

His voice was a different story. For a machine, it was surprisingly shaky.

"After all..." the dying sparrow continued, "Those who fear death... are those who haven't... done anything worth... remembering..." Another long pause. The patriarch was thinking, apparently. "Here's my wish... to you all: ... Live life to the fullest... Make the things people... will remember you for... be positive."

Stylus locked gazes with Lorem. There were no pupils left in the patriarch's eyes, but Stylus could tell Lorem was looking at the robot.

"I'll see you later... Stylus... Everyone..."

The sparrow's eyes quivered for a split second, then shut entirely and permanently. On Stylus' HUD, Lorem's vitals ceased.

Silence filled the Elder's hutt.

Stella kept a hand on the engine to prevent it from swinging wildly. It had been taken out of the hunting jeep for a serious modifying session.

Stylus was at his work bench, welding together a custom piece made of the strong material.

"How's the muffler doing?" Stella asked.

"Pretty well," Stylus returned as he adjusted the polar effect of his visor to get a better look at the finished part. "Just need to polish it up, and it'll be set for years."

"In a way, it's a good thing that guy synthesized all this material. This jeep ain't gonna be falling apart soon."

Stylus agreed. The hunting jeep certainly won't, now that the engine's been completely replaced, along with practically every piece of it. The project had taken several months after the elder died.

"I still miss him, Stylus."

Stylus nodded as he melted off excess crap from the custom muffler. He didn't really have anything to say, aside from "I do too." Although really, he preferred to not think about Lorem too much.

Even today, he wondered what Lorem meant by "I'll see you later, Stylus." It targeted him specifically before he added "Everyone else." Did he mean Stylus wasn't going to live forever? He already had the nagging feeling on the back of his mind prior to volunteering for roboticization. Recently, more often than not, it's pushed itself to the front stage.

A few memories stood out from the pack as well. For instance, Lorem attempting to take up fencing (against Stylus' recommendations) and wound up fracturing his wrist to the point where he couldn't fence again. When asked why he did it, Lorem replied "Failure is an adventure. Besides, did you see the sword fly across the room? Hilarious!"

He was an oddball, Stylus had to admit. Being that kind of oddball made the patriarch more endearing.

"Alright, it's finally done," Stella said before slamming the hood shut. "Let's see this junker break on us now."

"I give it five weeks," Stylus joked.

Stella laughed in response. Despite being thirty-six now, her laugh was still young and healthy.


	19. Chapter 19

Tails was finally awake now, so Stylus had nobody to rudely wake up while working to find a way to store the spare parts. Well, the robot assumed the fox was awake. The X Tornado was gone, leaving the garage surprisingly roomy.

He could replicate the same box as the first ones, but that would take too much effort and time. A few days at-most. Unfortunately, with the presence of Doctor Eggman and the government, he didn't really have a few free days.

Stylus instead carried a few loads of the spare parts upstairs, putting it behind his self-proclaimed "prison-table." After a few minutes of back-and-forth, Stylus eventually cleared out the workbench.

That would work for the time being. Stylus decided he could make a custom sack. under Lorem's advice and last words, he had tried out many things. Sewing was not the best subjects he tried out, but in this case, he's just making a sack. Two pieces sewn together. What was so hard about that?

Oh wait, getting the material. That meant he needed to find a shop that sells a good material... That meant going out into the organic city again... Well, strength in numbers, or he could get someone more familiar with the city to go get it. Stylus exited the garage via the side door.

The glass panes of the walkway "tunnel" had been replaced by now. He wasn't sure by whom. Hell, he never really saw who did it.

Stylus entered the side door into the mansion, marking the first time he had been in the building to begin with. It was... big... to say the least. Even the token rich guy back in Fearless Winds didn't have a house as big and decorated as this. Said rich guy's been dead for about two decades...

Thinking about it, the robot had been to a lot of funerals in his time.

His thought process ceased when he spotted a fire place. Stylus took the liberty to produce the business card from his pocket and tossed it in...

Stylus was about to turn away when he noticed that it didn't go in. Rather, it seemed to bounce off of something and land on the floor. Stylus picked up the card and took a closer look at the fire place. This didn't look like any fire place he had seen. It was a transparent pane with many nozzles hidden amongst the all-black background.

What the hell was this? Stylus asked as he attempted to find a way to throw it in.

"That's the gas fireplace," said the butler. Stylus spun around, startled.

"Don't do that, please." Stylus said.

The butler smirked. It was kind of disturbing. "If you want, I can dispose of it for you."

Stylus slowly nodded, and handed said card to the butler. "By the way, where's everyone else?"

"Master Chris is off to school. Tails and Sonic are off to find chaos emeralds. Amy and Cream are getting ready to go shopping with-

"Shopping?" Stylus asked before the butler could finish the sentence. It wasn't because the writer couldn't remember the maid's name if it had been beaten into his dumb head. It was because this was a perfect opportunity. "Permission to join the shopping trip?" Stylus asked.

It was responded with a strange look by the butler. "You'll need to ask them, not me," he finally replied verbally.

Stylus nodded, followed with a "Thanks" before he started walking through assorted rooms in the mansion. He didn't find them until he returned to the lobby- where they were about to leave.

"Could I tag along?" Stylus asked, "I need to get some materials."

He figured that rich cats like these people would be relatively honored to lend a few of whatever currency they've adopted over the years Stylus was gone.

"I don't see why not," replied the... Was that the maid? Was it A maid? It was difficult to determine.

Several minutes later, Stylus found himself strolling next to the pink one, (he assumed she was Amy) Cream, and the maid. Along the way, Stylus formally introduced himself. He then found out the maid's name was Ella.

It unnerved him that Ella could sound like that Doctor Eggman fellow if she really really tried. Irrelevant, however. Stylus walked with the trio to a clothes shop.

As they entered, Stylus removed his hat to examine. It was an old hat... Very old. Burn marks, dirt, dust, grime, salt stains. It was a damn ugly hat.

He found it beautiful in its complexity. Still, a new hat, trousers, and backpack wouldn't be uncalled-for. Amy, Cream, and Ella moved on for their own shopping. Stylus started his browsing down the aisles.

In a section labeled "SPORTS" by the giant sign hanging from the high ceilings via chains, Stylus spotted a few large duffel bags. Each were perfect to fit all of the spare parts and more. He picked one up. It wasn't that heavy either. Material felt incredibly durable.

Perhaps the technology of these organics aren't so primitive after all... Or maybe he just wasn't used to seeing this kind of thing anymore, what with spending-

Stella was fifty-two when Patrick entered their lives... Wait, what the hell? Where did that memory fragment come from?

Regardless, Stylus crunched the numbers at incredible speed. He then finally figured out how long he had been gone: Seventy-three years.

That was it? Stylus knew that Doctor Robotnik could get robots to build a city of this scale within that time span, but this city- by organics? The city itself even looked to be older than seventy-three. Something was wrong with the presence of this city. Something unusual, maybe even ethereal, probably worked to make sure this city was here. It would explain how Stylus had never seen these types of organics before.


	20. Chapter 20

Stella and Stylus were out for a morning jog, going from Chester to Fearless Winds all the way around Lake Echoes, and then straight back to Chester. It was an hour-long run, and Stella maintained her fitness that way.

Even at fifty-two, she still looked young.

One morning, during one of these jogs, Stella suddenly asked "You ever read up on Chao?"

"Chao?" Stylus asked.

"I guess not, hm?" Stella replied. Both slowed near a park bench stationed on the edge of the path- flattened into fine dust by the feet of many other joggers. "They're yea small," she added, holding her palms horizontally with about a foot or more in-between, "Very adorable, like a baby."

Stylus got the hint and smiled. "Sign me up for Chao-raising," he said.

"Well, let's just get one. Leo's friend in Fearless Winds has a Chao farm. We could get one there."

Stylus nodded. Never again was he more excited. The emotional state kind of caught him off-guard, what with emotion-based reactions next to impossible with robots. Perhaps the years spend in Chester and area helped him reformat his mind into something more dynamic.

He stopped processing the train of thought when he realised that he hadn't picked out a new hat, backpack, and trousers yet.

Stylus spent the next few minutes doing what he had planned to do. Eventually, he got a pair, a pack, and a hat that he found suitable. Now he just needed to rendezvous with the others.

It was remarkably easy to spot them. Stylus was in fact, taller than the more "normal-looking" organics Amy, Cream, and even Sonic. That, and the fact that they're easily noticed amongst a crowd- one of which had formed around the trio, asking questions. They were serious celebrities, Stylus confirmed.

He gently pushed his way through the crowd to rejoin the trio, with his select items under both armoured arms. As he added his four select items to the proverbial shopping cart, he noticed that the ladies had collected an insurmountable stock.

"Um... Is that really necessary?" Stylus asked.

The response was a "What do you think?" look from Ella and Amy. Cream and Cheese seemed to silently convey "They're insane!" through their expressions. Cheese in particular tapped his head- driving a rather obvious point home.

Stylus shrugged. At least he wasn't paying. Hell, he didn't have the correct form of currency as it is. He was relying on the trio to pay for the items- obviously as the material "thanks" for the two conflicts that the robot took part in.

The next half-hour was comprised of Stylus carrying his select items in a bag... and then he got loaded with more and more shopping bags. Pretty soon, he was a walking pile of filled bags, with little visibility. Stylus had to rely on his motion tracker to avoid contact with organics and to follow the trio and chao.

"Are we done yet?" Stylus asked. Alarms were starting to blink on and off on his heads-up display, mostly due to the mass amount of torque his arm joints are going through. He could lift up a vehicle if he needed to, but in this case, his arms are outstretched and have constant stress put upon them.

Stylus got no answer. Perhaps they didn't hear the robot under all of the consumer goods and ambient noises from the many organics that inhabited the mall.

"Are we done yet?" Stylus asked again, this time louder. This time, he stopped when his motion tracker detected multiple pings converging on his position.

Said pings appeared to be organics with devices in their hands... They looked like cameras. Oh son of a-

Stylus carefully put down most of the bags, then picked off the others standing over his shoulder pads and helmet. He then turned to get a look at the assorted members of the collective paparazzi.

"Rumors say you pack weaponry capable of taking down Eggman's minions with ease. Is this true?"

"Assume all answers are "No Comment." Now go away," Stylus answered.

They continued asking questions, such as "Where did you come from?" "Are you an Eggman Robot?" "Are you a friend of Sonic's?"

One in particular piqued Stylus' interest. "Are you from the same world as Sonic?"

World? As in an alternate dimension? Stylus cocked his head to the side, trying to display obvious confusion at the question. He refrained from answering any of the questions, as he had already established his answer for every question: "No Comment."

Unfortunately, these random dipsticks with cameras continue flashing their cameras at the robot who remained standing still amongst the pile of shopping bags. Fortunately, Amy, Cream, and Ella arrived on the scene. Ella chased off the paparazzi with an umbrella.

"Are we done yet?" Stylus asked as he held his arms out for the trio to load up the shopping bags again.

"Yes, we're done." Cream replied as she hoisted a shopping bag through Stylus' outstretched arm.

Stella handled the egg all the way back home in Chester. Stylus wasn't permitted to handle it with his bare hands because his bare hands were not soft a all.

The egg was pretty sensitive that way.

Back at home, Stylus used a blanket to cushion his hands so he would be able to hold the egg safely. The robot lay across the hand-made sofa, securely holding the egg so there was no chance of it falling.

"I'm gonna get some work done at the shop. You can stay here if you want," Stella said with a smile. She could sense Stylus' excitement. It was something different, and she liked those kinds of positive changes. "Just don't dedicate all attention to the egg instead of me, eh?"

Stylus smirked as he looked at Stella. "I know."

Stella left the house to continue work at the shop. Luckily, there were not many things that needed to be serviced this time around. Most of the tools throughout Chester were upgraded with the metal Stylus salvaged from that armadillo smith.

He trusted everyone in Chester. After all, he had been living there for thirty or so years now. The only people to leave the town was Lorem (for obvious reasons) and Leo. Leo left to Robotropolis on request from an urgent letter. Leo had been gone for about three years now.

It was something about family. As he slowly cradled the egg in its comfortable blanket. Stylus remembered the conversation they had the night before Leo left.

"Family matters in Robotropolis... Jeez, I have to go back there again..."

Stylus sat across the fire pit from Leo. The embers of the last fire glowed enough to illuminate the two citizens of Chester.

"Listen Stylus... You're a great guy, an incredible, well-hearted exception to the murderous robots over at Robotropolis... But between you and me, I never liked robots."

It wasn't a surprise to Stylus, who responded with "I remember you saying something less-detailed when I first arrived."

"Yeah, but..." Leo scratched something from his eye. Over the years, Stylus learned that it was Leo's sign of nervousness. "That was because I was the only one apart from you who's been there."

"Is this going somewhere?" Stylus asked.

"I dunno, really. It's just Robotropolis isn't the kind of place you can perfectly describe. You know?"

Stylus nodded. He did know. He fondly remembered the dusty, typically empty streets, the faint smell of oil and charred matter. He was a bit of a nutcase among others; what with being one who actually relished the sort of thing.

"I'm nervous about going back, man. Hell, I don't want to go back. But I've got family there. What if they're in serious trouble? I'm too far away to make a difference even if I left right now. They might as well be mindless slaves to Doc by tomorrow morning."

Stylus wasn't sure of what to say. He's never experienced something like that before. Thinking about it now, he remembered his own family getting roboticized for being Freedom Fighter sympathizers. They were taken away while Stylus was away on a walk. When he returned, he didn't really notice until the next day. He was suspicious when he realised that he just spent the night in the family abode and nobody else was even here.

Once he left, he spotted his dad and brother, clad in metal and pushing a supply cart under guard by four SWAT Bots.

"Dad? Thomas?" he remembered whispering. The SWAT Bots didn't detect the audio. Instead of following, Stylus stared intently at the duo pushing the cart. "You'll outlast me now... You'll both bury me."

He refrained talking about his memories of family members becoming mindless slaves, fearing that his personal reaction would seriously frighten Leo. Hell, Leo's scared out of his wits as it is.

Indeed, he was all but completely engrossed in the idea of immortality at the time. Lorem's words still clung to the back of his synthetic mind. Contradicting ideals continued clashing, taking up much processor power.

He still listened to Leo, who continued babbling.

Eventually, Stylus said "Family comes first."

"Yeah, For better or worse..." Leo added. "That's why I'm going tomorrow. Just... now, I have the feeling that if they're in as serious trouble as the letter implies... then..."

"By the time you get there, it would be too late," Stylus finished the sentence.

Leo nodded, then sighed. "Still, it might as well be a good thing that you never found RELIC."

Stylus cocked his head. What was Leo implying?

"I mean, if you did, and took him... or her out, then you'd be back at Robotropolis, or somewhere completely different. Stella might have remained a lonely person, despite the community."

Stylus slowly nodded. There really were no other bats in Chester or Fearless Winds, and inter-species romance is just plain weird, even to a guy so obsessed with the concept of immortality.

"Anyway, in case I never make it back, but you eventually do? Well. Try to find me. If I became one of Robotnik's slaves..." Leo teared up, "I just... I wouldn't ever want that."

"Acknowledged," Stylus finally said. That was a promise.

Stylus kept promises, even after roboticization. This was the third person to make this kind of request.


	21. Chapter 21

They had returned, car filled to the brim with crap. Stylus kept a firm hold on his own bag as the vehicle came to a full and complete stop. They all unloaded themselves and started loading up Stylus to bring everything inside.

He kept muttering to himself, "Just get this done, and I'll be back to my own work," as he hefted the shopping bags up the stairs. He figured the Butler stood to the side, watching this rather comical scene take place.

"Okay, you can put the stuff down here," Ella said after Stylus finished climbing the lobby stairs. The robot carefully put the shopping bags down before grabbing his own. After stepping around the bags, Stylus mentally declared that he was "free."

The robot checked his own bag. folded-up duffel bag, trousers, backpack, with the new hat on top. It was a good day indeed.

Stylus jogged all the way to the garage. Through the side door (the hole had been patched up with a makeshift barricade) and up the stairs.

There was a man in a suit standing by the table. A box of ammunition in both hands.

Before the man could try anything, Stylus reached into his old pack and produced his side arm. "Drop it," he said.

The man slowly rose his hands, maintaining an impossible-to-read face.

"That's not dropping it," Stylus growled, training the sights at the suited man's abdomen. At this range, there was no way for the man to try to dodge. "Drop it, and empty your pockets."

"Why my pockets?" The man asked innocently.

"I can see one of my rounds making a bulge in your suit pocket."

The man swore under his breath. He then dropped the box and started emptying his pockets.

Stylus thought against a direct threat that would make the man wet his trousers. With pistol pushed into the man's stomach, Stylus patted for hidden pockets, searching for spare parts and the like.

"Shoes. I want to be sure," Stylus ordered. There was still one more place he could search, but no man, woman, or otherwise would even consider storing sharp-edged spare parts or bullets in the so-called "ultimate" hiding place.

The man, of course, complied, pulling off his shoes and confirming to Stylus that they were in fact empty.

"Now stop trespassing," Stylus finally barked. The man rose his hands atop his head and simply left. Stylus watched as the man left the garage and climbed over the garage-side gate.

Afterward, the robot produced the duffel bag and started filling it with all of the spare parts. He needed to find a better place to safely store the metal and ammo. Inside the mansion would be a superior place.

The loud hum of the X Tornado filled Stylus' audio sensors. Looks like Sonic and Tails had returned. Stylus made a small pyramid of the crates atop the duffel bag and lifted the whole thing up. It was damn heavy, but lighter than a car. Good thing the floorboards were sturdy.

Stylus slowly stepped down from the garage attic, passing by the hedgehog and fox. The trip to the mansion was relatively uneventful, neither was finding a good spot to store the material (under the stairs in the lobby, as it turned out) and neither was the return trip back to the garage.

He didn't need to worry about reloading anytime soon. He always kept a few magazines for both his sidearm and rifle.

It was now time for the proverbial makeover. Stylus took off his ugly mess of a hat, trousers, and the backpack. It was the first time since he was first equipped that he ever took off the so-called "civvie gear." It didn't smell of perspiration at all. Robots don't perspire, after all. It instead smelled remarkably faintly of oil and burned metal.

He pulled the sheath from his original backpack after emptying it entirely. Stylus put on his new trousers, securing it with his old belt- after he cleaned it properly, of course. The new backpack was also a single-strap, and had more specialized pockets. Stylus used one for rifle mags, another for pistol mags, two more for the pieces of his weapons, and the main pocket for his keepsakes.

The robot attached the sheath securely onto the backpack, but kept the knife out. He used the knife to cut two straight holes into the wide-brimmed hat. Without the holes, the hat wouldn't have fit around the ears of his helmet.

After strapping on the backpack, throwing on the hat, and sheathing his knife, Stylus completed his new image... Well, new-ish. His attire was a slightly darker brown than before, but at least they were no longer grimy.

With new attire and nothing left to do, Stylus returned to the diving board.

Stylus awoke from sleep mode. The sky was dark, riddled with bright tiny dots. The sky was the same as always. He looked down into the sky, realising that if this was an entirely different dimension he had stumbled into, then why was the sky exactly the same?

He missed the sound of a crackling bonfire already; only now did he realise it. The faint whoosh of a passing car reached his audio sensors from the other side of the mansion. The robot waited for another two minutes before a similar whoosh emitted from the road.

Too much background noise, really. Then again, there was a lot of noise back in Chester. The metaphorical argument fell flat when Stylus remembered that he enjoyed the background noises of Chester.

Here, it seemed empty, like an out-of-practice orchestra in an empty room comprised entirely of painted cinder block. The sounds were not pleasant. The echoes were boxed-in.

Stylus started pondering how exactly he had knowledge of an orchestra. Then he remembered Patrick again.

He and Patrick did almost everything together. Stylus taught the chao how to shoot, how to fight, how to maintain fitness. For everything else, they got the help of the community. Stylus remembered helping Patrick and many other chao for an orchestra during the harvest celebration. Patrick was seven then, one rebirth so far.

Eugene and Irwin also came to watch- though they were there to move extra chairs. The practice session was taking place in the community warehouse- a large building used for many purposes, such as indoor events, or storage, or both.

The harvest celebration had been combined by all the towns to take place in Fearless Winds. Said town had expanded pretty well over the years. The event itself was truly fantastic; the best in the robot's opinion since the second one.

Stylus remembered storing an old recording of the chao orchestra. He delved into his memory banks and found the file.

Data corrupted.

F*ck.

Stylus sighed. He should have expected this. He's losing many things. His memory banks have even lost memory on Patrick's hatching, or his first rebirth, or how Stylus and Stella settled on the name Patrick.

The robot climbed down off of the diving board again. He sat at the base and produced the aquamarine badge from his backpack. On the back was the pin and a small, but clear engraved message.

FIRST PLACE - AQUAMARINE SWIMMING TOURNAMENT - PATRICK.

The one thing Stylus never could teach Patrick. The chao instead mastered it on his own, and loved the freedom of the water. Stylus recalled the many, many days he, Patrick, and Stella went out to help the chao practice for said tournament. Stylus sat on the closest possible bench- several feet from the community lake- while Stella and Patrick practiced.

One time, on a scenic path home to Chester, Patrick asked Stylus "How come you never swim with us?"

"He can't," Stella replied.

"Why not?"

Stella looked at Stylus, whom seemed to be trying to form a clear answer that could be understood by the young chao.

He was thinking of an answer, but a large portion of his processor power was running contradictions, once again out of his old desires for immortality and the present truth that he never actually achieved it.

"I guess it's because I'm a robot. If I don't short out, then my internal fluids would pollute the lake."

"Being a robot sucks, huh Dad?"

"Not necessarily, Patrick-" Stella started, then she closed her mouth after looking again at Stylus. The robot had paused.

Being a robot sucks. Stylus had never thought of it that way before. He couldn't process a complete thought on the idea because he lacked solid reasons to agree or disagree.

"Sometimes," Stylus replied.

"But if you weren't a robot, you wouldn't have known the good fighting techniques you taught me. I even helped my friend Monty against a bully at school!"

Stella wasn't an overreacting person. A fortunate trait for her to have. Stylus especially liked that about her. She processed the idea that Stylus had created a potentially deadly chao, then the fighting back against bullies. "You taught him how to fight?" Stella asked, a surprisingly amused look on her face.

"You didn't know?" Stylus asked with a grin.

"I thought it was just fitness in general," Stella replied, punching Stylus' shoulder. At this point, her arms and knuckles had gotten used to the impact against Stylus' armour. The hands were real worker's hands; tough, ragged, but still clean and relatively fine.

"Who's Monty? You never mentioned this one before." Stylus asked.

"He's one of my classmates," Patrick replied, speaking in a clear fashion. "he's learning how to fly. He's not there yet, but I know he'll get there soon."

Stylus picked up Patrick, whom then climbed onto his hat and gripped the helmet ears. Patrick enjoyed doing that, and it looked pretty funny. Stella always got a kick out of the image, anyway.

"You didn't cause any permanent damage to the bully, I hope," Stylus said.

Patrick shook his head. Stylus couldn't see the chao, so Stella shook her head. "You sure?" The robot asked.

The chao replied: "Well, I'll find out tomorrow."

Stella giggled. Stylus was legitimately worried. He couldn't help but laugh anyway.

Stylus put away the aquamarine and decided to look at the property in greater detail. There was little action going on at this time of night, so the robot has a chance to figure out what exactly he's in.

Back yard, complete with pool, hedges on two sides, a massive forest in the back. Mansion appeared to be two stories tall, but said floors were remarkably tall by themselves.

Garage was big enough to hold the Tornado X aircraft. The hole was surrounded by scaffolding, dry wall, and assorted construction materials.

All in all, the house reminded him of a large suburban area he had passed through on the way back from Chester. They weren't there when he first passed through from Robotropolis.

Or were they? Stylus wasn't really certain anymore. He needed to find a way to save his data, some way to break the firewall, loophole through the corrupted data. Tails had an excellent idea of what he was doing.

The robot stood up and jogged to the garage. If Tails didn't know how to do it, the fox would have a good idea who could.


	22. Chapter 22

Bah, the fox was sleeping, so was about everyone. Did any of them have planned sleep schedules?

Oh wait... they actually did; it was just the resident robot who didn't. Stylus mumbled some vulgarities at an incredibly low volume as he stepped silently down the stairs.

It was a nice night, and his energy charge was at maximum. What should he do for the next eight hours? His charge could last about a week from full to empty, but he preferred keeping it high with short recharge breaks in-between short worktimes. Stylus found it more efficient.

He left the property, walking around in his new attire. He never got to really explore the rest of the city. Stylus continued going up and down random roads and streets, committing his chosen directions to uncorrupted memory. He took note of unique landmarks, a street surrounded by nothing but giant apartment complexes, a road with a set of stores in a single building- similar to the one convenience store the robot had been to when he first arrived. A playground on one side, a school on the other. It was a typical area between the suburbs and full-blown city, a small town engulfed by the borders of an ever-expanding metropolis.

At one corner was a market that looked like one similar to one in Fearless Winds. A corner where everybody went for commercial purposes. In the case of this other one, there were giant patches of paint covering other giant patches of paint. A fresh-looking coat appeared to cover some vandalism.

A flicker of movement, around the corner of the L-shaped corner market building. Stylus slowly moved to investigate. Across the street, lit only by a few street lights. The robot saw something. His visual sensors didn't lie, and his motion tracker never lagged. There was something moving back there.

Stylus approached the corner while silently assembling his sidearm. Once he had it loaded, he rounded the corner.

An Albatross... armoured... It had no eyes. In its place, several beady lenses that changed from a dim green to a bright yellow. They appeared to be the albatross' sensors. Seemed that the sensors weren't working at optimal performance. The albatross seemed to have tripped while trying to hide.

"Stylus?" Stylus asked, putting his side-arm into the custom holster on his backpack.

"You too?" The albatross asked.

"Unit 25," Stylus replied.

"Unit 212," The albatross said as well.

Stylus rose an eyebrow. His generation of Stylus long-range troopers were comprised of ninety-three.

"Generation 2 here, how about you?" Stylus asked.

"Generation 8," the albatross replied, giving an odd look- at least, Stylus assumed that when the multiple lenses started refracting purple and green light.

Damn, was Stylus really gone that long? That Robotnik had made six more generations of STYLUS trooper after him? Then again, a lot could happen in seventy-three years.

"Well, it's good to have a true-blue ally these days," Stylus said as he offered a hand. The albatross held a mechanized wing out and gripped the robot bat's hand.

"Are there others?" The albatross asked as Stylus pulled it up. Given a better glance, Stylus noticed the albatross had a busted leg. That would explain the trip.

Stylus shook his head. "I did find two others in a sewer. They ran out of power, I guess. Although the better question is how you managed to avoid detection from these... organics."

"Move at night, hide by day," the albatross replied. "Basic stuff. These organics aren't really that observant."

The albatross sat down on an exposed root of a nearby oak tree. Stylus leaned against the wall of the L-shaped building.

"No, they aren't," Stylus laughed, then paused. "Any signs of Robotnik?"

"No..." the albatross replied as he shook his head. "Although there was this Doctor Eggman organic, constantly trying to attack the city with robots. Always foiled by this Blue Hedgehog and other animal friends of his."

"I managed to make contact with that one," Stylus said, "It's not our Doc."

"Damn..."

Stylus agreed. It was pretty depressing for Robotropolis and its might get replaced by this disorganized city under constant attack by a moron who can't even beat one little organic.

"By the way, you know anyone who could get into our class of memory core?" The albatross asked.

Stylus flinched, or rather, replicated the action. "Is your memory getting corrupted as well?"

"No, I've just been holding onto the core of my wingman," the albatross replied, producing a memory core in a safety cage from its chest storage.

Stylus cocked his head to the side, visually asking what the whole wingman bit was about.

"He was my wingman for assignments. His codename was Detour."

"Codenames? I only adopted the name Stylus. Is that a Generation 8 thing?"

"Yeah, Robotnik started setting up two-unit STYLUS teams at Generation 4, after finding that most troops that are sent never return. He managed to capture many freedom fighters over the years. My codename's Trig, by the way."

Stylus and Trig shook hands. At last, a remnant of a long-gone time that was still alive.

"Anyway, Detour's power core got damaged beyond repair. I finished the assignment with his memory core safely stored, then I returned here about two years ago."

"Was this city here when you got here?" Stylus asked.

"Affirmative," Trig nodded.

"Well, I found two other troopers in a hidden cavern underneath the city. I got their memory cores as well, but... well, no way past the firewall, eh?"

Trig nodded again.

"So you know anyone who could do it aside from the Doc?" Stylus asked.

Trig shook his head.

"The blue hedgehog had a friend who seemed know what he was doing- though he failed to break the firewall. Still, he would figure it out eventually, or he would know someone who could do it."

"You know the hedgehog?"

"Yeah," Stylus replied, "Why?"

"The hedgehog was Doctor Robotnik's arch-nemesis."

Stylus cocked a brow. That didn't make sense. Even considering Sonic's age, Robotnik would've been in his hundreds or something. "That doesn't make sense."

Trig shrugged. "I only knew about the Sonic guy from metaphorical mess hall conversations with other troopers and SWAT Bots. Seemed he was a prominent freedom fighter with his super speed and power rings and all that super-power stuff."

Stylus flattened his mouth. He didn't know what to say. Trig continued, "Still, we're not supposed to target the immediate freedom fighters. We're long-range troopers. Orders are orders and all that."

Stylus nodded. "Still, he's a valuable ally. I keep relics of the past at his place. It's the safest place from the Government, anyway."

"Government?" Trig asked. "Why are the Feds after you?

"I'll tell you on the way." Stylus replied, assuming "Feds" was simply a slang term for the Government officials he had to deal with. Stylus gripped Trig's arms and hoisted the fellow trooper over his shoulder. "Let's just get back."


	23. Chapter 23

The sun inched its way past the horizon, marking the first presence of light that wasn't the dark blue sky or the street lamps. Stylus was a block away from the Thorndyke residence, with Trig over his shoulder.

Stylus told Trig about his arrival, the meeting with Sonic and his comrades, and the sewer. He also mentioned the whole mess about the government trying to get their hands on the now-unique metal.

"According to what you just said, we're in a sort of alternate dimension?" Trig asked.

"Sonic and his friends said they were warped here by some strange magic crap, anyway."

At the gate, Stylus tried to figure out a way to climb up with Trig in tow. After a bit of thinking, Stylus just jumped and managed to grip the top of the gate with one hand. From this higher position, Trig took hold of the gate and lifted himself over. Before Stylus could follow, Trig lost grip and crashed onto the asphalt.

Trig cursed. Stylus swung over and picked up Trig again.

"I've got enough spare parts to fix that leg, by the way," Stylus said as he carried the fellow robot to the garage. After getting required materials, Stylus spent the next few hours getting Trig back in one piece.

Tails was the first one down, rubbing his eyes with those relatively loose white gloves of his, wearing a silly-looking night cap. The two-tailed fox glanced at Stylus working on Trig's leg. After taking several steps to the side door, the fox did a double-take.

"What is this?" Tails asked, suddenly fully awake.

"Name's Trig," said the albatross. Stylus didn't respond, since he was busy tightening a few bolts.

"Another robot? Did you build this, Stylus?"

"No, he found me," Trig replied.

"Oh yeah, it's good that you're up, Tails," Stylus interrupted as he snapped a new shin plate into place.

Tails cocked his square-shaped head in confusion. Stylus continued, "Did you know how to crack the firewall on my memory core the first time around?"

Tails shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like technology that hasn't been invented yet."

Stylus huffed. "Funny, because several decades ago, this city was a central hub of this kind of tech." He took a cloth and wiped off the excess lubricant before giving a tap on the shin for good measure. "Good as new, Trig."

Trig nodded his thanks. "It does support how this is some sort of Alter-Mobius," Trig added as he tested his finished leg.

"Several decades? Just how old are you?" Tails asked.

Stylus had to try to remember. Twenty-one when he was transformed, twenty-four when he arrived... another seventy-three years.

"Seventy-Six years active," Stylus had to resort to logical reasoning, since the exact information was corrupted. "But that's not important. Could you find out how to crack the firewall on one of the extra memory cores? If not, do you know someone who probably could?"

Tails slowly shook his head, then slowly nodded. "I mean, I could try to figure it out. I just need a lot of time, that's all."

Stylus looked at Trig, who produced Detour's core.

"Three cores total, not counting mine and Trig's. You sure you won't damage anything?"

"Puh-lease!" Tails boasted with kid-like enthusiasm. "I built the Tornado practically by myself. I bet I could find out how to crack a memory core."

Stylus flattened his mouth, not exactly amused. Trig handed the core to Stylus prior to hopping off the table. Stylus gave the core to Tails, saying "I'll go get the other two," before leaving the garage.

Trig went outside to test out his new leg, run diagnostics, ultimately making sure all systems read green. Besides, Stylus technically out-ranked the fellow robot experience-wise.

Stylus entered the mansion, thinking about Patriarch Lorem and what he had said over the years the robot knew him. The old sparrow's thoughts on Stylus' desires for immortality. Lots of contradictory thoughts flooded his processors. It wasn't pleasant to clear out everything.

_"See you later, Stylus,"_

The robot turned. No one was there. Minor glitch in audio memory, probably... There's a lot of audio memory there... Maybe too much.

How the hell was he holding all of this memory, anyway? Shouldn't he have limited storage space? How could he still remember things from over seven decades ago? Maybe some memory overwrote others, but that wouldn't explain the slow corruption of every bit of memory.

With a flinch, Stylus suddenly remembered that thermal enhancement allowed him to see Leo in the tower when he first arrived. _It was that of a tiger._

He had a promise. Stylus knew it now. He was dying, just like Detour, just like the two troopers he found under the sewers. The robot muttered vulgarities to himself as he climbed the main lobby stairs on the way to collect the two memory cores.

Stylus needed to find out now. Was Leo still alive? Chances of roboticization are high, considering the worst assumptions of his family problems.

_"Patrick, I'm so proud of you!"_

_Stylus vaulted over the fence and onto the track. Patrick ran from the shoal to Stylus' arms. They hugged like an ecstatic boy and his father. Stella was whooping, as were many other members of the audience._

Stylus entered a hidden pantry. The robot pushed aside some cans and checked every box he had. He soon found both cores and replaced the boxes and cans.

He left the mansion.

_Patrick stood proud atop the custom pedestal. An aquamarine badge was stuck on the center of his streamlined chest._

Stylus entered the garage again. "I got them," he said as he walked up the stairs.

_A Gunshot rang out. Stylus' hand was raised in the air when it got hit by a low-calibre round. The shot was meant for Patrick. All of the chao got down behind their pedestals as Stylus turned._

A Gunshot rang out. Stylus nearly dropped the memory cores. He placed them on his old prison table before looking out a side window.

Trig held a smoking sidearm, two suited Government Agents stared at each other- wait... not at each other. A third agent lay in the backyard lawn. Even from a distance, red glinted from the grass blades. It didn't take a genius to figure out what just happened.

_Stylus cursed aloud as he pulled the round from the damaged hand._

Stylus cursed aloud, unable to do anything fast enough as the Agents attempted to reach for their weapons. Trig gunned the duo down as well.

_"Patrick!" Stella shouted from the robot's left, "Are you all right?"_

"No! Goddamnit!" Stylus called across the Thorndyke yard.

_"See you later, Stylus."_


	24. Chapter 24

_The Chao Hunter- a despicable waste of life. Stylus remembered him well. A major prick who found game potential in many things- though found the little ones so satisfying._

_It was not dignified, even by Stylus' standards. He's built and designed to bring down targets that have proven to be difficult to bring down. Chao? They're foot-tall critters with basic sentience, the most intelligent kind of pet. Not even those who trained to be runners could outrun any organic Stylus' size._

_This Hunter character... He tried to kill Patrick. Stylus was not happy about that._

_During the chaos, Stylus turned his glance to where the shot came from. A few hundred yards away stood the Chao Hunter himself._

_He was one of those half-robots, a cyborg. Stylus gritted his teeth. He was not planning on letting this... thing... get away._

_Stylus charged._

_The Hunter finally noticed that he pissed off the wrong guy and attempted to pack up the vintage-looking hunting rifle he had set up._

_The robot closed the distance. The cyborg dropped the rifle, deciding to book it without the weapon. The cyborg started running into the forest in a mad attempt to get away from Stylus' wrath._

_Too late. Stylus dug an armoured fist into the cyborg's still-organic left shoulder blade. A sickening crunch was heard and the cyborg dropped._

_Stylus grabbed the Chao Hunter by his lion ear and spun him onto his back. Stylus continued whaling on the Hunter with a clenched fist. The multiple impacts didn't faze Stylus. The lion's divided face was drenched._

_The Chao Hunter spat a fang at Stylus, spattering droplets of blood onto his visor, following with a swing with his mechanized arm. The impact scrambled Stylus' balance sensors. It was a decent right hook, considering the cyborg was on the ground._

_Stylus dropped off of the lion- whom started to produce a pistol. Before Stylus could react, shots rang out._

_Four of them embedded themselves into Stylus' chest. His HUD flooded with damage reports. The robot ignored them, as none of them affected motor functions._

_In this fight, that was all he was going to need._

_The robot advanced as the cyborg attempted to step backwards over exposed roots and rocks._

_"You can't stop me, man! I'm built to do this! " The lion shouted._

_"You're built to kill Chao? Pretty specific directive," Stylus retorted as he lunged at the Chao Hunter."_

_"No, man! I'm built to kill! That's my purpose in life! You planning to deny me my purpose?"_

_Stylus punched the lion in the jaw. Another sickening crack._

_"Moher Fuher!" Chao Hunter whined. He dropped the pistol and felt at his busted jaw. Stylus took the chance by grabbing at the Hunter's arm. Stylus yanked it back while thrusting a boot into the Hunter's gut. The Chao Hunter coughed up blood. Stylus didn't take the opportunity to let the Hunter finish choking, swinging his boot up high- into the Hunter's face._

_The lion slumped onto the ground, whimpering. Stylus picked up the pistol from the ground._

_"What about you?" The Hunter shouted "I know what you are, Stylus. You're built to kill as well."_

_"How did your life go so wrong?" Stylus asked as he approached the Hunter. The Hunter tried to push himself away with his mechanized arm. The organic left arm hanged limp on account of its respective shoulder being dust at this point._

_After second thought, Stylus pondered how the Chao Hunter was still alive at this point. Then he noticed that the organic side of the lion was actually dead. It was just the machine that still functioned. Stylus didn't react in a horrified fashion as most people would. He knew of sentient intelligence being integrated into cyborg troopers- practically all of them turned out mentally unstable and therefore inefficient for field duty._

_Even Robotnik didn't approve of their erratic behaviour. Contrary to popular belief, it was not effective for... well, anything._

_Until now, however, Stylus just assumed this Chao Hunter fellow was just another cyborg. After all, Robotnik discontinued the dual-personality cyborgs a while ago. As far as anyone knew, those cyborgs were extinct and dismantled._

_"My life never went wrong. It only got right. It was a simple life, killing, making others suffer, My "partner" if you could call him that, was a deep-down sadist... Like myself."_

_Stylus checked the magazine of the pistol. Four shots left. "Keep talking."_

_"You know the legends, man. Everybody knows them!"_

_Ignoring the AI, Stylus said "Not interested in the legends. I'm interested in why you thought coming to _my_ home town to try to kill _my_ son was such a good idea."_

_"Aw damn, that was your chao?"_

_Stylus pistol-whipped the plating, leaving a major dent. The AI spouted gibberish for a second before continuing._

_"Yeah, I never bagged myself a Champion Swimmer. Hell, nobody else has- Oh crap."_

_Stylus pulled back the hammer. "There are others?"_

_The Hunter cursed. Stylus took that response as a "Yes, but I wasn't supposed to say that."_

_Stylus slowly crouched in front of the AI. "You're not a Stylus trooper. You don't have the kind of firewalls we Stylus troopers get. I could do so many things to your memory core... Salvage information, change details, make you... forget things... Forget things you don't want to forget."_

_"Hah! As if you got the balls to do it! You're a sof-"_

_Stylus thrust the barrel of the pistol into the cyborg eye and pulled the trigger four times. It was a time like this he wished Stella were around. She was amazing at one-liners._

_Still, the "Others" line could've been an effort to delay the inevitable. Stylus stood from the cyborg carcass. The mechanized eye busted in and smoking. Stylus dropped the empty pistol and left the forest._

_Other chao hunters? Let them come if they actually exist._


End file.
